Moonlight
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: April is 18 years old and lives on a farm with her family. Her life is simple and predictable until Jackson Avery shows up, sent to the farm by his mother to straighten up for a summer. For three months, April is responsible for him, and he makes her question everything she's ever known. Everything changes when Jackson arrives, and nothing will be the same once he leaves.
1. Chapter 1

**APRIL**

Just like every morning, I wake up a few moments before the sun.

I lie in bed for only a moment, watching the sky beyond my window turn dusty pink around the edges, indigo disappearing until tonight. I blink slowly, close my eyes to say a morning prayer, then gently push the covers back.

The floor is cold when my bare feet touch it, so I waste no time in finding thick, wool socks. It's the beginning of summer, but the early morning hours haven't yet caught up with the temperature change of midday. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my skin through the long sleeves of my nightgown in hopes of warming up.

When I take my nightgown off to change into a pair of barn jeans, my whole body erupts in goosebumps. I tie my naturally curly hair into a low ponytail and open the door to my bedroom, padding to the mudroom where my galoshes are. My sisters will join me shortly, but it's no surprise they're late.

"Good morning, sweetheart," my mother says, from where she stands at the kitchen sink. She's wearing an apron, already cooking something. "Where are your sisters?"

"Probably still sleeping," I say, then let her kiss my cheek.

"Why don't you get a head start on chores?" she asks. "Then, when you finish, you can come inside and help me tidy up."

"Yes, mom," I say, giving her a soft smile as I put on another layer before heading outside.

The gravel driveway crunches beneath my feet as I head to the main barn, the one that houses our horses - with the cows and pigs in pens around back. We live on 50 acres, and the animals stay on 10 or so. The other 40 is woods, most of which I've never explored. We weren't allowed to as young girls, and now I have no desire. Getting lost in the wilderness doesn't sound like fun; I'd rather stay close to home.

I yank open the heavy door of the barn to find the horses awake and restless, and smile at their big heads sticking out from the stalls.

"Hi, guys," I say, greeting them. "Who's hungry?"

Every morning, it's my job to feed and water the horses, and clean out their stalls every two days or so. I also collect eggs from the chicken coop and feed the cats - the tasks aren't too cumbersome, and we all have different assignments that we've kept for years. Alice tends to the cows and ducks, Kimmie the pigs, and Libby the sheep. With all of us on hand and Dad doing the heavy lifting, our farm is a well-oiled machine.

I'm on my way to the chicken coop when I hear a ruckus coming from the direction of the house, and I look to see that my sisters are finally awake.

"Hey, goody-goody," Libby says, leading the way.

Kimmie is right behind her, looking sour. The expression is not at all unusual. Alice brings up the rear, rubbing her eyes. She still looks half-asleep.

"Hi," I say, pausing to wave.

"Making us look bad yet again," Kimmie grumbles.

I frown a bit. "What do you mean?"

"Every single morning, you're out here before us. What's the rush? Mom and Dad won't disown you if you're not first, you know."

"But then she'd stop being their favorite," Libby adds.

"Leave her alone," Alice says, pushing her way through her older sisters to get to me. She wraps her arms around my middle and I hug her close, pressing my cheek to the top of her 10-year-old head. "Just shut up."

"You shut up," Kimmie says, rolling her eyes. "You're a suck-up just like Duckie. Quack quack."

"Stop it," Alice grumbles.

"Come on, Allie," I say, one arm around her shoulders. "It's fine. Let's go get our eggs."

She looks up at me, eyes shimmering for validation, and follows. We grab her basket for duck eggs and go to the coop together, making light conversation along the way.

"I heard Mom and Dad talking last night, after you went to bed," she says. "Through the vents."

"Allie," I say, kneeling to grab a couple eggs from under the hens. "You shouldn't be eavesdropping."

"I couldn't sleep," she says. "Their voices were keeping me up."

I crane my neck to look at her where she stands, and we trade a silent moment where she knows I'll either scold her or encourage her to continue. My expression tells her what she needs to know - that she should keep talking.

"There's someone coming to stay with us," she says. "A boy."

I frown and place a steadying hand over the group of eggs I've collected inside my basket. "A boy?" I repeat. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "I couldn't hear everything, but I think he's coming today."

I stand up slowly and brush my jeans off. "What do you mean, today? And where will he sleep?"

She shrugs again, then reaches to tickle my ribs. "Your room!" she shrieks, then runs away in her hand-me-down boots that still don't fit right.

"Hey! Come back here!" I giggle, chasing after her while trying to keep my basket steady. She sprints through the middle aisle of the barn and disappears out back, and I follow her trail. When I burst through the back doors, though, I happen to run right into Kimmie at full force, which sends us both flying backwards.

I open my eyes while lying on my back, sprawled out on the cool grass. There's liquid dripping from my cheek, the basket handle has fallen from my arms, and my lungs struggle for breath. I think the wind got knocked out of me.

"April!" Alice shouts, and I feel her footsteps more than I hear her come closer.

"You idiot!" Kimmie jeers. "Look where you're going once in a while. You dropped all your stupid eggs, ugly duckling."

I try and regain my bearings as I sit up and blink hard. She's standing over me and glowering, her form hulking in comparison to mine.

"Sissy, you're bleeding," Alice says to me, sounding worried. "Your cheek. There's blood."

Still dazed, I wipe the cut with my hand and try to ignore how it stings. I'm too worried about Kimmie nearing me looking as angry as she does - I'm afraid she's going to kick me in the stomach or beat me up in general. It wouldn't be the first time.

"You're such a waste of space," she says, then lifts her knees and stomps on all the eggs I dropped so they turn into globs of goop in the grass.

I gasp and force the imminent tears away.

"Kim!" Alice says, scrambling to her feet. "Why did you do that?"

"Just go away, Allie," she says, and shoves Alice's shoulders before looking back at me. "See how Mom likes her little goody-two-shoes now."

She walks away, and I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. Alice crouches next to me again, fussing over my wellbeing, and two tears drip from my eyes.

"I'm fine," I say, finally standing. "Don't worry, Allie. I'm fine. I promise."

"But you're still bleeding," she says.

I finish my chores while the blood dries on my face, and go inside without bothering to wash it off. Instead of being the first like my mother expected, I'm last - with Alice on my heels.

"April!" Mom says, once she sees me. "What happened to you?" From my face, she looks down to the empty basket in my grungy hand. "And where are the eggs?"

Kimmie and Libby are already sitting at the table, fresh and clean, while I stand in the kitchen doorway covered in dirt, yolk, and blood.

"I dropped them," I murmur. "I fell."

Kimmie adjusts her shoulders and turns to Libby for validation, and like usual, she gets it. They smile at each other, ever-so-subtle, while Mom's face transforms into a dramatic frown.

"I expect better from you," she tells me. "You put more than a dozen good eggs to waste. You need to be more careful, April. I'm disappointed."

"I'm sorry, mom," I say, head hung low. "It won't happen again."

"It better not," she says, sternly. "That was our breakfast you dropped all over the yard. I'm going to make oatmeal for your sisters, but I want you to go wash up and think about what you've done. Don't come back down 'til it's time for lessons."

"Yes, mom," I say, and slip out of my muddy galoshes to put them back in the mudroom.

Instead of anger, guilt sinks in my gut and floats near the top. We're taught to take punishment and accept what we've been given, no matter what. There is no talking back, no attitude, and definitely no arguing. It's not in my nature to tell on my sisters, because I'm fully aware that if I did, I would be punished by them much worse than by my parents.

I look in the bathroom mirror with a washcloth in hand and wipe the dirt off to see the cut clearer. It's not deep, but it's insistent, so I put a conspicuous Band-Aid over it and stare some more.

I blink into my own eyes before looking away self-consciously. My face is covered in freckles, my eyes are a muddled green, and I'm not allowed to use makeup. My sisters have called me ugly my entire life, and I've always believed them. I'm the furthest thing from pretty, and this sore thumb of a Band-Aid doesn't help.

I turn my back on the mirror, disheartened by what was blinking back at me, and turn the faucet on. We don't take showers often because my parents say they're wasteful, so I wait until the tub is filled just enough before stripping my filthy clothes and climbing in.

We're not allowed to use very much water, so I'm not exactly warm while I sit with my arms wrapped around my legs. I take a few moments for myself, though, playing a silent game of connect the dots with the freckles on my kneecaps and watching the dirt from my body filter into the water surrounding.

I let out a long sigh and promise to do better. I won't let my sisters get under my skin, and I won't find my way into situations where I can get into trouble. I need to get better at keeping my head down, which is something I always tell myself.

I don't rush in the bath. I scrub my skin slowly with a white washcloth and watch the water trickle slowly down the slopes of my shins and back into the tub once I wring it out. I lather shampoo in my hair and rinse it out with a well-worn cup that sits in the corner, and hurry to my room wrapped in a towel once I'm done.

"April Olivia!" my mother calls up the stairs. "Lessons are starting. Get down here, please."

"Yes, mom," I say, and rush to put on a school skirt and button-up blouse. I pull my hair half back even though it's still wet and slip into a pair of dark gray socks, hurrying down the steps to join my sisters at the oak wood table to learn.

Our mother homeschools us, and always has. We've never stepped foot inside a public school, because the teachers will blatantly ignore our beliefs and ignore the word of God and the Bible. We don't know many people our age because of this - only the ones we see in youth group every Sunday night.

"Sorry," I breathe, sliding in next to Alice.

Mom takes a good look at me. "Much better," she says, referencing my clean state in comparison to how dirty I was earlier.

I nod and gather my books, placing them on top of the table. Even though I'm younger than Libby, I'm ahead of her in school. At this point, she should already have graduated, but hasn't. I have only a small amount left before I'm done.

I'm not sure what comes after, so I've been putting it off. Going slow when I don't need to be, and pretending I don't understand lessons I could do in my sleep. The future is too scary to contemplate, so I simply choose not to.

"Girls," Mom says, spine straight and chin held high. "I have some news I'd like to share with you, so please listen up. Close your books."

We all obey, our eyes trained on the woman who raised us.

"We have a guest arriving today," she begins.

Alice nudges my socked foot with hers under the table, her silent way of saying: _I was right_.

"He'll be staying with us this summer, in the shed."

The shed is more like a little barn; it's constructed well with good insulation and comfort, if necessary. It's been empty for a while because our number of horses overwhelmed its size, but apparently it won't be vacant for much longer.

"Wait," Libby says. "A boy?"

"Yes, a boy," Mom continues. "He's the son of an old family friend, and his mother thinks he could stand to learn a few lessons that only farm life can teach him. So, we're going to be welcoming hostesses and make him feel at home, all the while showing him what kind of hard work, dedication and responsibility goes into caring for lives other than your own. Am I clear?"

We all nod.

"April," she says, singling me out. "You'll be in charge of him."

I frown slightly. "How old is he?"

"Eighteen," Mom says. "But I need you to take some agency, young lady, and this is a perfect way for you to do so. For the duration of the summer, this young man will be your responsibilty. And if something goes wrong, the blame will come down on you. Am I clear?"

"Yes, mom," I answer.

Questions fly through my mind at a million miles per hour, all fighting to get to the front. What am I supposed to do with him? Will he want to talk to me? What could he have done to deserve banishment from his home and family?

"They're driving here today, from Chicago," Mom says. "They should arrive a little after lunch."

She looks at me pointedly, and I tuck a small piece of hair behind my ear.

"April," she says. "His name is Jackson Avery. And you'll be taking care of him this summer."

…

I'm determined to do a good job with the task I've been given, but I have no clue where to begin. I have no male friends, and I rarely interact with the boys in our youth group. All I know is that they're loud and tell jokes I don't understand most of the time, but I'm pretty sure they're sexual. They're short, pimply and gross, and they always talk over the girls. Except for Matthew, of course, but I've been told time and time again that he's different.

And now, for the duration of the summer, I have to be very close to a boy. One staying on our property, no less. I spend a good amount of time jotting down notes before his arrival in my special red notebook that I got for my last birthday, bullet points on what I think will help me get through the next three months.

Be kind and understanding, but firm

Mean business

Make conversation but don't be weird

Smile and make him feel at home

Don't let him get too comfortable, if he's here for punishment?

Don't make friends

Do NOT get a crush

I stare at the list for a long time, eyes following the loops of my curly handwriting. When I deem it good enough and can't think of anything else to add, I close the notebook and tuck it into the pocket of my skirt where it always goes.

A few hours later when we're all downstairs again, the Averys' car pulls up in the driveway and my sisters and I gather around the front window to watch.

"Don't just stand there and gawk," Mom says. "Go outside and welcome them."

Libby opens the front door and steps out first, suddenly quiet. Kimmie follows suit, as she always does with Libby, and I take Alice's hand to lead her.

A smartly-dressed black woman steps out of the driver's seat and brushes herself off, then smiles towards the group of us.

"What a dashing bunch of young ladies," she says. "My god, I haven't seen you since you were in diapers. And I don't think I've met you at all, little miss," she says, gearing the last part towards Alice.

Moments later, our mother steps out and smiles at the woman. "Catherine," she says. "It's nice to see you again."

The woman, Catherine, smiles and says, "You, too Karen. I just wish it were under different circumstances."

"Where is he?" Alice pipes up, which earns her a swift kick in the calf from Kimmie. "Ow!"

"My son," Catherine says. "Is still sulking." She bangs on the window with a flat hand. "Jackson Avery! If you don't get your spoiled behind out of this car right now, I will come in there and drag you out in front of these fine, upstanding women."

My stomach churns and jumps, and I wring my hands together. I'm about to look the rest of my summer in the face, and I'm not sure what to expect.

Whatever image that was in my head was totally wrong. The boy - more like a man, actually - who steps out of the car is nothing like the ones at youth group. He's tall, with caramel-colored skin and piercing blue eyes. He's wearing a frown with slightly parted lips, a white t-shirt that grips his body in all the right places, and jeans that sag around the waist. There are subtle gold chains around his neck, tattoos on his arms, and he has a closely-shaven head.

I've never seen someone that looks like he does. I find it hard to believe he's my same age, because he seems much older and more experienced.

"Say hello," Catherine prompts. "This is your host family, the Kepners."

"Hey," he grunts, then leans against the car to dig something out of his pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and a lighter, then proceeds to start smoking.

I can't believe what I'm seeing.

"For God's sake, show a little respect!" Catherine says, then snatches it from his mouth and knocks it to the ground, stamping it with one foot. "You better not act this way once you're finished here."

He rolls his eyes. I can't image ever rolling my eyes at either of my parents.

"Jackson," my mother says, and her tone means business. I've been at the receiving end of that tone for much less than what he's already done. "Welcome to Otsego."

He scoffs. "What's an 'Otsego,'" he says.

"It's where we live," Alice says, indignant, suddenly defensive.

Jackson glances around at the tall trees and wildlife that surrounds our farmhouse. He looks far from impressed. Suddenly, I feel self-conscious.

He makes a judgmental sound and I swallow hard and lick my lips. I do everything to avoid looking up, and wish I could sink into the ground when my mother says my name.

"April," she says. "Say hello."

I lift my head. Jackson stares at me; his blue eyes are lasers boring into my skin.

I take a few steps forward and extend my hand, arm rigid and straight. "Hi," I say. "I'm April."

He shakes my hand, then wipes his palm on his jeans. I want to die from embarrassment. Was my grip really that sweaty?

"April will be with you all summer," my mom says, filling in the verbal blanks.

"So, you're basically my parole officer," Jackson says.

I blink at him, wide-eyed. That's a term I've never heard.

"My, uh…" he says, searching for another word. "My guard, I guess."

"Not a guard," I say, quickly. "Like a…"

"A friend," my mother finishes. "I think you two will get along. I'm sure there's plenty you could learn from her, Jackson."

I'll die if she doesn't stop.

"Why don't you show him around, April, honey?" Catherine says. "I should be going, anyway. Jackson, please behave."

He shoots her a look, but she ignores it. She nears her son and holds his face, patting his cheek a few times with one hand.

"I want you back to the good boy I used to know," she says.

"Mom," he says, and jolts his head away. "Honestly."

She sighs and crosses to give my mother a hug. "Thank you again, Karen."

"It's our pleasure," Mom says. "April has quite a bit of learning to do, as well. I'm in the same boat right now with her, so I'm willing to help in any way I can."

"Duckie-Duck the delinquent…" Kimmie jeers.

"Kimberly," Mom warns.

Kimmie doesn't speak again.

"Be good, baby boy," Catherine says, opening the driver's side door to get back inside. "I'll call a few times a week, and I'll see you in September."

He gives her a curt nod after grabbing his suitcase from the trunk, and we all watch the shiny black car pull out of the gravel driveway and disappear. We stand there in silence for a moment, the six of us, before my mother speaks again.

"April," she says. "Why don't you show Jackson where he'll be staying?"

"Oh, right," I say, eyes downcast. "Um… it's this way. I'll… I'll show you. Just follow me. It's this way."

"You said that."

"Yeah." I clear my throat. "Well, it _is_ this way."

He looks at me, those blue eyes wide and expectant. Expectant for what, though, I'm not sure.

"So…" he trails off. "You gonna start walking, or should I lead the way to this outhouse where I've never been?"

"Oh," I say, and blush madly. "Um, yeah. It's this way."

He snorts. "Your face is really damn red right now, you should know," he says, as we start to walk.

I cover my cheeks with my hands. "Yeah, I know," I grumble.

"Do I make you blush, little ginger?" he asks, taunting me.

"Please, stop." I try and make my voice sound firm, but even I'm aware it doesn't work.

"No need to freak," he says, matching pace with me instead of falling behind. "Nice Band-Aid, by the way, Shawshank. What kind of prison camp is this, anyway?"

I touch my cheek and cover it with one hand, eyebrows low. I had forgotten about my cut already.

"It's not a prison camp, it's a farm," I answer.

"Well, it smells like shit," he comments.

"That's the manure," I say, conversationally.

He shoots me a look. "Gross as fuck."

I resist the urge to recoil at his choice of language. "It's fertilizer," I say. "It helps things grow."

"The only thing it's doing is grossing me out," he says. "Can we get away from these cows? Damn. I'm suffocating."

I keep my laughter to myself and try to keep the back-and-forth going, straying from the subject of excrement, though.

"So, you're from Chicago," I say, trying to think of the advice I gave myself in the red notebook: _Make conversation but don't be weird._

"Yeah."

There's a pocket of dead silence that I expect him to fill, but he doesn't.

"Where?" I ask.

"Uh, I was born on the south side, but we moved to Wicker Park when I was like, ten. Around the Bucktown border, but I stay near north a lot."

Now, I'm the one who's silent.

"You don't know what the fuck I'm talking about, do you," he says, and I shake my head. "Yeah, it's whatever. I'm from Chicago, that's my answer. Yes."

"Do you like it there?" I ask.

"Yeah. It's cool," he says. "You ever been?"

"No," I say. "I've never left Michigan."

We make it to the door to the shed and I swing it open, but after I walk inside, I look over my shoulder to see he's still frozen in the entryway.

"Come in," I say. "This is where you'll sleep."

"Hold up, hold up, hold the fuck up," he says. "You've never been outside Michigan? The state that literally smells like a pile of shit anywhere you go?"

"Hey," I say.

"You gotta get out," he says. "Holy shit, you gotta get out of this place."

"I'm fine here," I say. "Can I take your bag?"

He narrows his eyes and wheels the suitcase in by himself, dumping it in the middle of the floor without any care at all.

"You've lived on this farm your whole goddamn life and you don't want to leave?" he says, shocked. "Is there something in the water? Are they poisoning you?"

"Of course not," I say, and start to feel the effects of being in a confined space with a boy who intimidates me. My hands are sweaty again and my skin tingles. To give my fingers something to do, I take out my red notebook and trace the spine neurotically while looking everywhere but Jackson's face.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I need to leave.

He sighs and flops down on the bed, arms and legs strewn every which way. "I would've been long gone by now," he lets me know.

"But you're here," I say back.

He looks at me with his eyes only. "Got me there," he says, then directs his eyes upward. "Hey, look. I can stargaze through the damn hole in the ceiling. Lucky me. I knew this place was five stars."

Even though I try and quell it, a smile sneaks onto my face. I cover my mouth with my hand, but Jackson sees anyway.

"Ah, the porcelain doll _does_ smile," he says, sounding pleased with himself.

I blush again, even worse than before. Before he can say anything, though, I turn my back and hunch my shoulders forward, then take a few steps towards the door.

"Make yourself comfortable," I say, the words falling against each other as they escape my lips. "Uh… I… welcome to your… welcome… welcome home."

…

I go in the house and finish my schoolwork at the table, where we're made to sit until every last problem is finished. By the time I'm done, the sun hangs low in the sky and the back door opens as my father walks in.

I look up, being the only one still here because I've been working on extra credit.

"Hi, daddy," I say, smiling softly.

"Hi, honey," he says, then comes to kiss the top of my head. "Where's your mother?"

"Kitchen."

"Did the Avery boy make it here today?"

I nod and close my textbook. "Yes, daddy. He's in the shed now. Mom told me I'm to look after him this summer."

"Did she, now," he says, capping one hand over my shoulder. "That should be fun."

I hold my tongue without grumbling a response.

"April Olivia," Mom calls, as if her ears were ringing from being talked about. "Go get that boy and invite him to supper. He has to be hungry by now."

I stand from the table and push my chair in dutifully. My father watches with a knowing glint in his eye and says, "Better go."

"Yes, mom," I say, and slip into my lace-up boots to head outside.

The air isn't necessarily balmy, but it's pleasant. There's a gentle breeze that blows tendrils of my hair around my face, the ones that aren't tucked into the French braid woven down my back. I turn my face to the wind and close my eyes, enjoying the smell of nature that Jackson had been so averse to a few hours ago.

When I make it to the shed, the nervous feeling comes back. My mouth goes dry and I prepare my words before I knock, though I know my brain will probably fail once I see his face.

It's not easy to keep myself under control around that kind of face.

But I close my hand into a fist and knock anyway, bolstering my confidence. When Jackson answers, he's wearing one earbud and an expectant expression in his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Um…" I say, clasping my hands together at my waist. "It's suppertime."

"And?"

I twitch slightly. "Uh, you… you… my mother wanted me to come invite you to eat with us."

"Do you do everything Mommy says?" he asks.

I flinch and bite my top lip, unsure of how to respond. He must sense my discomfort, because he continues.

"I'm fucking with you, little ginger. I'm not hungry. I'm just gonna stay here."

If I let him decline my invitation, I'll get in trouble for it at the house. Mom will tell me I wasn't persistent enough, that I should've pushed harder, that I should've made him come.

"You have to eat," I say, but my voice comes out meek and mild.

One of his eyebrows quirks slightly. "Yeah?" he says, then slowly looks my body up and down. My whole being burns, and I'm left in a pile of embers once his eyes meet mine again. "We could have a five-course meal out here, if you want."

I'm not completely sure what he means, but the tone of his words alone makes me take two stutter steps back. My cheeks light on fire, and he's beyond satisfied with himself.

"I-I…" I stammer, sweating profusely. "I'll… I'll tell her…that you…"

"Go ahead," he says. "Pass along the message. Don't worry about me, I'll figure something out when I need food."

He studies me again, pausing on certain body parts that I tend to forget I possess.

"Oh - okay," I stutter, swallowing thickly. "Um. Goodnight, then. Goodnight, Jackson."

His eyes flash as he chuckles softly. "Goodnight, little ginger."

…

I get reprimanded lightly for not bringing Jackson inside, but my father reins my mother in by telling her that Jackson probably isn't comfortable enough to join us yet, so his absence isn't my fault. Dinner is the most enjoyable meal of the day because Dad is present, and he's always on my side.

When I go to bed later that night I plan on journaling, but when I pat down my skirt, my notebook is gone. I make a frustrated sound, annoyed that I let it fall out. It happens all the time, and one of my sisters probably has it.

I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, body buzzing with energy. I toss and turn to try and get comfortable, but nothing works. Finally, I get out of bed in my long-sleeved nightgown and walk to the window, where I have a perfect view of the shed.

All the lights are on, which means Jackson must still be awake. He's not moving, I don't see a shadow, but I wonder what he's doing. Is he laying down, missing home? Is he thinking about his friends? Is he thinking about me?

I roll my eyes at myself and retreat back to bed. Why in the world would he be thinking about me?

I close my eyes, determined to get rest, and pray hard. I talk to God until my thoughts come slower and more disjointedly, and eventually fall into a light, fitful sleep.

When I wake the next morning, I don't feel rested. My eyes ache with tiredness and my body protests when I sit up, but I force myself to stand. There are chores to be done, and I have to be outside first.

My mother is awake, as usual, when I find my way to the kitchen.

"Take Jackson this morning," she says. "Show him your routine. Give him a few jobs."

I'm riddled with nerves just by hearing her words. I can't imagine telling him to do anything, let alone giving him work. But, being the diligent daughter I am, I agree.

"Yes, mom."

"Good girl."

I head outside with my coat zipped up tight and my galoshes making a sloshing sound as I walk through the dewy grass. When I get to the shed, I shiver with emotion and coldness, then knock on the door. I don't expect an answer because I assume he's still asleep, so I'm surprised when I hear his voice.

"S'open."

I turn the knob and push on the door slowly, peering inside as it swings wider. I don't see him at first, but it only takes a moment before I do. When I catch sight of him, he's standing by the bed with his back facing me, getting changed, currently shirtless.

I've never seen so many muscles before. His body is tight and sturdy, covered in expertly-placed tattoos. I can't stop staring, and my heart speeds up tenfold. When he turns around, the broad expanse of his chest sends me into a tizzy and I step backwards so fast I run into the wall.

"Morning," he says.

I can't find the words to respond. Suddenly, my tongue has grown ten sizes, along with my heart. It's thumping in my chest so powerfully that I'm surprised it doesn't burst through like a cartoon character's.

I've never wanted to touch someone so badly before, and that desire is deeply rooted. Deeply rooted, and deeply terrifying.

"I - uh - I… I'll meet you… your… body - your body, and you.. Meet you in the barn," I say, words coming out all jumbled together as I quickly turn around and break into a sprint.

I take deep breaths once I'm alone and crouch to put food in the cats' dishes. I place my elbows my knees and my face in my open hands, scolding myself for acting like such a fool. If I'm going to make it through the next few months, I have to do better at holding myself together. I shouldn't feel this way, anyway. I've basically already promised my hand in marriage to Matthew. I don't have eyes for anyone else.

A few moments later, Jackson sneaks up on me and interrupts my thoughts. I jump at the sound of his voice and drop the cat food in my hand, scattering it all over the ground.

"Hey, kitty cat," he says, and I look over my shoulder to see he's holding my little red notebook and extending it to me. "I think this is yours."

My breath catches in my throat. This is going to be the longest summer of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

_hi guys! by now, im sure you all heard what happened with sarah drew being fired from greys and april's arc being done after season 14. i'm not sure where this leaves us as a fandom, but i will definitely stop watching/keeping up after the finale of 14. as of right now, i will 100% finish this story. i had another one in the back of my mind, but depending on the vibe of the fandom, im not sure if ill write that one. i just dont know yet. im heartbroken over what happened, but i hope i can continue to bring a sliver of happiness with this story. please stick with me. :) i love you guys._

 **APRIL**

I stand up quickly and send more cat food flying, then rip my notebook from his hands. I tuck it into the pocket of my skirt and turn my head away, eyes on the concrete floor instead of his face.

"Thanks," I murmur.

"Uh-huh," he says, a certain lilt to his voice.

I grit my teeth, still unable to meet his eyes. I cover the outline of the pocketed book with one hand, spreading out my fingers to reassure myself it's there.

"I'm not gonna grab it from you," he says. "You left it in the shed last night."

"Okay."

He snorts, laughing a bit. "I didn't have anything else to do. So, I kinda read some of it."

My face bursts into flames. That's not what I wanted to hear.

"I liked your bullet-points," he says. "But, come on. You don't wanna be my friend? That's kinda mean, kitty cat."

I can't force a response. I'm too humiliated.

"I liked your poems, too," he says. "When are you gonna write one about me?"

I cross my arms over my chest as my cheeks heat up further. I'm not sure how my blush could worsen, but I feel it happening. He thinks he's funny. Everyone always thinks they're so funny when I'm the butt of the jokes.

"Guess I won't get one if you're not allowed to have a crush on me, though, right?" he says, laughing as he tips his head to try and find my eyes. "Come on. I'm just fucking around. Take a joke."

I spin around and clear my throat, willing myself not to cry. I don't want to look stupider than I already do.

"Let me show you how… how to… where the hay is, and um, how to feed the horses," I say. "Um, the stalls need to be cleaned tomorrow. Not today. Um, every two days."

I hear him following, but I don't turn around and check.

"Who's Matthew?" Jackson chimes in.

"No one," I answer, too quickly.

"I couldn't quite tell how you felt about him. You seemed kinda wishy-washy. Is he your future husband, or something? Is it like an arranged marriage sort of deal? Or did you just make him up?"

"Why would I make him up?" I snap, eyebrows deeply furrowed.

He shrugs. "Bored, I guess. I'd be bored as hell out here."

"I have plenty to do," I say.

"The wind through my hair / should make me feel free / when he looks in my eyes / is it me that he sees?" Jackson recites, voice high and airy.

That's my poem.

"Please," I whimper, faced away, eyes burning.

"What was that?" another voice asks - Kimmie's. She scurries behind us with Libby beside her, Alice following at their heels while struggling to keep pace.

Jackson looks over; I catch a glimpse of their sparkling eyes as they study him. Libby and Kimmie, that is. Alice is looking at me, most likely having noticed my less-than-ideal emotional state.

"Just a poem April wrote," Jackson says.

"Aw, one of Duckie's sappy little love poems," Libby taunts, then comes closer to me. I back up, but hit the wall before I can get far, and she yanks my notebook out of the skirt pocket where she knows it always stays. "Should we read another one?"

"Libby, stop," I say, and reach for the notebook only to have her hold it out of my reach.

"Hold up," Jackson says. "Wait, come on. Give it back."

Libby pays him no mind. She clears her throat and opens to a random page, eyebrows raised dramatically as she finds something to read. I want to run as fast as I can out of this situation, but my feet are rooted to the ground.

"Wait, wait, wait, this is even better. A journal entry! Okay. Dear diary, today we went to youth group and I saw Matthew. I like spending time with him, but I think I need more time to warm up to what will eventually become a relationship between us. In all honesty, I'm not sure how to act around him. It seems like we-"

Before she can finish, Jackson snatches the book and silently hands it to me, lips pursed, eyes downcast.

I don't say a word. I take it from him, hold it against my chest, and sprint out of the barn back into the house where I plan on staying for the rest of the day.

I mope in my room until it's time for lessons, which I'm not allowed to miss. I clean up, get dressed, and head downstairs to the dining room table. Right now, Alice is the only one sitting there - no one else has arrived yet.

"Sissy," she says, standing halfway up. "Are you okay? I was gonna stop by your room, but I heard you crying and I didn't want to bother you."

My eyes ache because of how much sobbing I did, but I force a smile anyway. "Yeah. I'm okay now," I say. "Don't worry."

"I'm gonna tell on Libby," she says, determined and indignant.

"No," I say. "Don't do that, Allie."

"Why?" Alice presses. "Her and Kim are so mean to you, and it's not fair. Mom and Dad don't even know. But maybe those two would get in trouble if they did. Why don't you ever tell?"

"You saw what happened in the barn," I say. "They embarrassed me. If I told on them, or if you do, it'll get ten times worse. They'll make my life awful, and yours too. So, do us both a favor and keep quiet, okay? I can handle whatever they do, it doesn't bother me."

"But yeah, it does," Alice says. "They made you cry. They always make you cry."

"Well, maybe I'm just too sensitive then," I say, sitting and arranging my skirt around my legs.

"No, you're not," she responds quietly, getting comfortable next to me. "You're just the right amount. Daddy always says you're soft and have your heart right here."

She points to her sleeve, and a weak smile appears on my lips. Dad does always say that.

"That's a good thing, sissy," she continues. "I don't want them to make you mean."

"They won't," I say.

"I'm lucky," she says. "I'm lucky I have one really good sister. If I had a million bad ones, it wouldn't matter 'cause I'd still have you. And you make everything good, because you're good."

I hug her shoulders and squeeze tight, closing my eyes. She knows I'm lucky to have her, too.

"Jackson was mad after you ran away," Alice says. "I think he wanted to yell at them. But he didn't."

I open my eyes and blink ahead. "What do you mean? How could you tell?"

She shrugs, still wrapped up in my arms. "His face got all pinched and scary-looking," she says. "I was worried he was gonna hit them, or something. But he just got the hay down and fed the horses. Also, he helped me collect eggs. Both the ducks and the chickens."

"That was nice," I say, wholly surprised. "Was he kind to you?"

"He was telling me jokes," she says. "I already heard them all before, but I pretended I didn't. He smiled when I laughed."

I grin, too. "That was good of you."

Interrupting our moment, Libby and Kimmie find their way into the dining room with Mom close behind. They're talking about something in hushed tones, the two of them, and their eyes flash to me once they sit down.

"Write any more sonnets while you were locked away in your tower?" Kimmie chides, under her breath so Mom doesn't hear.

I grit my teeth and look away, avoiding her by opening my textbook to begin my work. I try to stay diligent and complete the assignment, but it's more difficult than it seems, given the information Alice told me.

Jackson seemed mad when I left, even though he was the one that started the ridicule in the first place. What does that mean? I don't understand. It's too confusing. If he didn't like how Libby and Kimmie made fun of me, why would he do it himself?

But then, he took the time to help my little sister and make her laugh. That's the mark of a good person, which contradicts everything I've been told and that he's shown me.

I've never been more confused by a person in my entire life.

…

After lessons are over, I debate going outside and talking to Jackson but decide against it. I stand at the door for a handful of minutes, staring at the shed, but I never get past the porch.

So, I go inside and do a couple chores for Mom, lost in the work until Alice calls and says someone is at the door for me. Expecting Jackson, I snap up from where I'd been bent over mopping the floor and straighten my clothes, brushing my hair out of my face to greet him.

When I get closer, though, I see through the window that it's not Jackson at all. It's Matthew.

I put on my best smile and open the door, stepping out to join him instead of inviting him inside. He smells like pine and outdoors.

"Hi, Matthew," I say, folding my hands at my waist and looking up at him. The most obvious thing I noticed about him when we met as teens was his height. He towers over me, sort of like a tree.

"Hi, April," he says.

His face is clear and blanched, with small drops of sweat at his temples. He must have walked here from his house a few miles away. He's probably expecting to stay, but that's not what I want. I pray for my mother or sisters not to see him, because they'll insist he come inside for a glass of water or even worse, dinner.

It's not that I don't like Matthew, I do. He's very pleasant and kind to me. But today of all days, I don't have the mental clarity to host him.

"How are you?" I ask, politely.

"I'm well," he says. "And you?"

"Fine. I'm just fine."

"Good," he says, then pulls a small bundle from a bag I hadn't noticed. "I brought you some cheese from Hadley."

Hadley is his sister's goat. I'm not crazy about the cheese, but Alice likes it and so does my father, so I always request it specifically. Anything that makes them smile, even something small, I enjoy doing.

"Thanks," I say, then take it from him. It's a good size, it'll last a while.

"I thought you'd like it."

"We do, thank you," I say, repeating the sentiment and desperately searching for some way to fill the gaps in this conversation.

This is how it usually goes between us - we quickly run out of things to talk about. I'm not sure if he ignores this fact or simply doesn't notice, because he always waits for me to bring around the next subject, blinking dumbly at my face.

"So, um, the summer has been nice so far," I say. "The weather's held out. Daddy's crops are doing well."

"That's great news."

"What about your father's?"

"We're doing fine, too," he says. "Thank you for asking."

I nod curtly, a small smile on my lips. "Tell your mother I said hello, and I'll be around the house sometime soon."

He smiles now. "I will," he says. "Maybe after youth group on Sunday. Would you like to come for dinner then?"

"I'm not sure yet," I say, which isn't exactly the truth. "I'll ask."

I'm positive I don't have plans, but the thought of leaving the comfort of my home to be stuck at his for hours on end isn't exactly tempting. Especially with Jackson on my mind, who really shouldn't be there at all.

"I can let you know," I say.

He makes an affirmative sound. "My parents told me your family is hosting a guest," he says.

"Yes, we are," I say, unwilling to open up much further.

"Who?"

I swipe a finger along my cheekbone, scratching a nonexistent itch. "His name is Jackson Avery. He's staying with us for the summer to learn about farm living."

"I heard he's here to get back on the straight and narrow."

I pause a moment before answering. It doesn't feel right to air out Jackson's business to Matthew, though I have no loyalties to him. He's still a person who deserves privacy, even if I don't understand him at all. What matters is that he's human.

"It's really not my place to discuss," I say.

Matthew nods, getting the picture that I don't plan on spilling any more information. "Okay," he says. "Well, enjoy the cheese. And give me a call if you'd like to come over on Sunday. I can have my mother make your favorite."

I smile transparently, unsure if he or his mother even know what my favorite thing to eat is. I don't think I've ever told either of them.

"Thank you again," I say, and wave him off as he begins down the path away from my house.

Mine and Matthew's family have been close for a long time, and we apparently played together as kids, but I can't remember. There was a time when we drifted apart because they went to a different church, but came back to ours when Matthew and I were sixteen. Ever since then, it's been a known fact that he and I, perfectly paired, will end up married someday.

I don't have the wherewithal to refute it. There's no one else in this town for me, and he's a good man. He's kind, thoughtful, and respectful, which should be enough. It's a sin to admit it's not, and I'm no sinner.

It's unspoken, the fact that once we're ready, we'll be husband and wife, but it's well-known. Everyone at church is aware, our parents more than anyone. We don't sit around and talk about it, but it's assumed that one day there will be children running around this farm that are half me and half him.

In complete honesty, that thought repulses me more than any other, making babies with him. First of all, I'm not too sure how that process works. My old youth group leader once lent me a book on female growth and sexuality before she was let go, but I've never opened it. I'm too scared. And my parents have taught us nothing in regards to that subject.

I might not be sure about what goes into making a baby, but I don't think I want to do whatever it takes with Matthew. Just like my poem said, embarrassingly, when he looks at me - I'm not sure what he sees. But I don't think it's my heart.

But I'm a good daughter, a good woman of God. And because of that, I'll accept my future fate with strong shoulders and a smile.

Almost as if on cue, my mother appears behind me. "Who was that?" she asks.

I jump, frightened by her sudden presence. I hold my heart with one hand and the cheese with the other, turning around to respond. "Oh, just Matthew," I say, and before she has a chance to berate me for being rude, I add, "He had business to attend to back home. He just wanted to stop by to drop off some cheese for us."

The first lie to my mother. It won't be the last.

She takes it, looking pleased. "Your father and Alice will like this," she says.

I nod.

We spend a moment looking at each other before she jerks her head in the direction of the shed. "Go get the boy for dinner. And don't take no for an answer this time."

"Yes, mom," I say, voice growing weak as she turns to go back inside.

Then, I'm left on the porch presented with a duty that I have no choice but to carry out. I'd rather disappear inside and skip dinner entirely than face Jackson after what happened this morning, but that's not an option.

I start down the stairs and count the steps to the shed, stomach sinking with each one. I'm already picturing the snide look on his face, the glint in his eyes from knowing my innermost secrets. All day today I could barely look at the red notebook, because I was tempted to open it and see what he'd seen. But all the while I wanted to do that, I couldn't imagine anything worse.

Much too soon, I arrive at the door and raise my fist to knock. But before I can, it opens and Jackson appears in the entryway, luckily fully clothed, wearing a strange expression I haven't yet seen.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," I say. "It's suppertime. Mom wants you to join us."

He presses his lips together and nods slightly, but makes no move to leave. There's something he wants to say - I see it swimming behind his ocean eyes.

"Sure," he says, sounding a bit choked.

"So, should I tell her you're coming?" I say, thankful I won't be scolded for allowing him to turn me down.

"Yeah," he says, then rubs the back of his neck. I turn around to leave, assuming he'll catch up when he's ready, but he stops me with a hand on my elbow.

My skin burns, singes, smolders with his touch. When I look to where his fingers hold me, I'm surprised steam doesn't rise up in their wake.

"Wait a second," he says.

I have no choice. I can't move. His hand still hasn't left me.

"I just wanna say I'm sorry," he says. "It was fucked up, what I did this morning. I didn't mean for your sisters to get in on it. I was just trying to yank your chain, not make you cry."

His hand retreats to his side, but that doesn't make the stinging stop. We lock eyes and my breath hitches in my throat, completely flummoxed by this offering. I had not expected it. I'm not used to apologies, and one from him seems unprecedented.

I continue to stare, unresponsive. I'm not sure what to say, and this seems to bother him.

"So, what, you just gonna stand there blinking at me?" he says, on edge. "I said I'm sorry. What more do you want?"

I gasp softly, adjusting my feet in the grass. "N-nothing," I say, then look down before raising my eyes again. "Thank you. I accept your apology."

His energy cools. "Alright," he says, then cracks his knuckles. "For the record, I liked the poem. It was pretty good. Not that I know anything about poetry, but I don't know. It read nice."

I blush hard, for a much different reason than I did while he was reading it. "Thanks," I say.

"Yeah."

There's a long pause, but not like the ones Matthew and I share. This one's different - it's charged and alive. There are a thousand words, thoughts, and sentiments vibrating below the surface, begging to burst through. The silence is the only way to quell them, to keep them down.

"I'm fuckin' starved. We should go eat," he says, breaking it.

"Of course," I say, then start off on the path. "Come this way."

When I lead Jackson into the house, dinner is already on the table and my mother looks pleased, which makes me proud. I did something right, and I'm rewarded by her warmth.

"Welcome, Jackson," she says. "Why don't you sit here?"

The extra chair is next to mine, with Kimmie on the other side of it. I'm thankful and relieved we have a buffer, because I usually have to suffer through meals with her elbowing me every chance she gets.

"Thanks for making all this, Mrs. Kepner," Jackson says, sitting down.

My father appears and introduces himself, then sits at his usual spot at the head of the table. When Alice sees who's next to me, she stares with wide eyes and says nothing. Libby and Kimmie are the opposite, though.

"Jackson! So, you decided to join us tonight," Kimmie says. "And yay, you get to sit right next to me."

"With the poet on his other side," Libby jeers. "Maybe she'll write a little something about this and share it with the class tomorrow."

I stare at my plate, jaw clenched. Alice takes my hand in preparation for the prayer, squeezing it in solidarity. I squeeze hers back three times, which is our secret code for: I - love - you.

As the rest of us bow our heads, Jackson digs in without noticing the pre-supper tradition. He eats voraciously, clearly he's hungry, but I stop him with a gentle hand to his forearm. His skin is warm and soft, and I notice my fingers have overlapped a subtle tattoo of an ocean wave.

"We pray before we eat," I murmur, catching his eye.

"Aw, look! Duckie's touching a boy for the very first time," Kimmie sings.

"Jackson and Duckie, sittin' in a tree. K-I-..."

"Kimberly!" Dad bellows, which quiets everyone at the table. "Elizabeth! I've heard enough. Stop bothering your sister, and bow your heads. If I hear your voices one more time during this dinner your mother made, you'll spend tomorrow in your rooms. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Yes, daddy."

"That's what I thought," he says, then bows his head again. "April, would you start the prayer, please?"

Everyone's eyes are closed, so I smile softly when I bow my head. I take Jackson's hand and can't help but notice how thick his palm is, how strong his fingers, how sturdy his knuckles. The feeling alone makes me weak in the knees, stomach jumping, and I can barely concentrate on what to thank God for besides the boy beside me.

I lose my words in the air; they don't reach my ears. All I'm thinking about is Jackson, and how he makes me feel.

…

Once supper is over, I start clearing the table but my father silently stops me and hands the job over to Libby and Kimmie. Due to the looks they shoot me, I know I won't be happy about it tomorrow morning, but in the moment, I'm glad. I'm told to take Jackson back to the shed instead.

The air is cooler after sunset, and we walk slow. There's no rush, no time limit, no jobs to be done. It's just us and the night, the three of us together.

"Your sisters are bitches," Jackson says, breaking the tranquility.

I'm not at liberty to agree with such harsh language; I can't. It's a sin. But again, so is lying, and I did that earlier. Minorly, to my mother. But still, a lie all the same.

"They can be unkind," I say, amending his statement.

"Nah, it's more than that."

I don't have another response, I just let that one sit in the air and steam.

"All sorts of bitches like them in high school," he says. "Not like you'd know. But I'm saying, I've seen it before. Girls like you get bullied a lot. It's fuckin' wrong."

"Girls like me?" I repeat.

He looks at me quickly before darting his eyes away. "Yeah," he says, then scoffs. "Fuckin' lame-ass nerds."

I frown, eyebrows coming together. Tears prick the backs of my eyes and I wring my hands. I thought we'd been having a nice time.

"Kitty cat," he says, voice much gentler. "A joke. It's a joke."

"Oh," I say.

"I guess you're not really used to humor like that," he says.

"No," I say, shaking my head.

"You're used to like, fuckin'... horses, telling you jokes, or some shit?"

I roll my eyes slightly and suppress a smile, eyes still downcast.

"You know, you can smile around me. I'm not gonna smite you or report you to God."

"I know," I say.

"But do you, though?" he says, and nudges my shoulder.

After he speaks, he thrusts a hand into his pocket and comes out holding a cigarette. It perches between his lips while he digs for a lighter, and when the end burns with embers, the smoke assaults my nose and I turn away coughing.

"Sorry," he says, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth.

"That's a very unbecoming habit," I say.

"Well, we all got our vices, right?"

I cross my arms and stare at him hard.

"Guess you don't," he finishes.

"You're killing yourself," I say. "Your lungs are already suffering, and the longer you do it, the shorter your life becomes. I don't know why you'd want to do that to yourself. Don't you have people to stick around for?"

"No," he says quickly, bluntly, taking a long drag. "I don't."

"Well, I do," I say, and snatch it from him. With the toe of my boot, I stomp it out in the gravel and make sure it's dead.

"Christ on a fuckin' cracker," he says. "You do have some fire, don't you?"

"Secondhand smoke is a killer, too," I say.

He chuckles a bit; his shoulders bounce once. He's looking at me in yet another way I haven't seen. He nods a bit when he says, "Point taken."

We continue to walk and he pipes up again.

"I only started that shit to piss off my mom," he says. "Not kidding. Then, well, it's addictive, I guess. Routine. Habit."

"You should stop," I say.

"Got it," he says, amused. "You made that pretty damn clear."

We continue to walk in silence then, passing the shed and making the route longer. He doesn't say anything when we go by it, and neither do I. It's an unspoken fact that we're not yet finished with each other tonight.

"There's a fuck-ton of stars here," he says, out of the blue.

I shove my hands into my skirt pockets, shoulders hunched by my ears. It's gotten chilly.

"What do you mean?" I ask, neck craned towards the sky.

"I mean, just look," he says, pointing up. "It's crazy."

I snort. "It's the sky."

He looks at me, then back up. "Nah, you don't get it. You don't have an appreciation for it, Miss I've-never-left-Michigan." He shakes his head. "You don't see stars like this in the city, you just don't. The sky's all cloudy and smoggy, too many lights. You're lucky, seeing this every night. Don't take it for granted like a little asshole."

"I don't," I say. "I do love it here."

He looks over again, noticing my posture. "You cold?" he asks.

I shake my head, mostly because I'm not ready for this to end. This is the most engaged I've been in a long time; I like talking to him and being in his presence because I'm never sure what will come next. My life is entirely predictable - but he is not.

"I'm fine," I say.

"'Cause I can leave you alone. Let go you back in."

"No, I'm okay," I answer, quickly.

"You don't want me to leave you alone?" he asks, smirking.

I shake my head mutely.

He smiles, showing no teeth. But his eyes sparkle and light up his whole face, brighter than the stars.

We continue to walk, exchanging light conversation about his life back home. I learn he's an only child to a single mother, who had no idea how to keep him on the straight and narrow anymore. She was tired of finding him out of his room at night, worried that he was going to become involved in gang activity around the city. He promised he wasn't, that he was just being a normal teenager, but she didn't believe him. So, she sent him here with the promise of money when he got back, if he stuck it out.

"A gang's stupid shit," he says. "I'm not trying to get killed. I'm too smart for that."

"You are?" I ask, benignly.

"What, you think I'm stupid?" he snaps, eyebrows lowering.

"No," I say. "I don't, not at all."

"I'm not stupid."

"I know," I say, and notice we've made it back to the shed.

Without saying anything, he opens the door and we walk inside like it's the most natural thing in the world. He slips off his shoes and I keep mine on, but follow him to the fireplace and sit in front of it, right next to him.

The hair on my arms stands up, and I'm sure he can see. I'm wearing short sleeves.

"I knew you were cold," he says, referencing the blatant goosebumps. "But I've gotten pretty good at making this fire."

I smile and look at him, not sure what to say. I've never been this alone with a boy, no less a boy who makes me feel like _this_.

We spend a couple moments in comfortable silence while he stokes the flames, and when they reach a good height, he scoots back next to me.

"I saw you talking to some guy earlier," he says, knees bent. "Was that Matthew?"

"Were you spying on me?" I ask, smirking.

"Look who's got jokes now," Jackson says, eyes shining. "Kitty cat's over here trying to make me laugh. I see you."

"You pulled that nickname out of nowhere," I say, messing with a thread on my skirt.

"No, I didn't," he says. "You were with those damn cats this morning. It came naturally. Plus, you're small and kinda quiet, like a cat."

"I'm not always quiet," I say.

"Oh, really," he quips.

"Yeah," I say, looking at my knees.

"You get chatty with your man, Matthew?"

"He's not my man," I say, speaking before giving myself a chance to think about what I'm saying.

"Sure sounded like he was, from that journal," Jackson says.

Instinctively, I reach for my pocket and flatten my hand over the notebook that sits inside it.

"Chill," he says, reading my mind. "So he's your man, whatever. But just from an outsider's perspective, it didn't look like you guys were all that crazy about each other. He didn't even touch you."

"He doesn't have to touch me," I say.

"God does enough of that for him?" he says.

I purse my lips and roll my eyes lightly. "Enough," I say.

He laughs softly and doesn't add anything else. I notice his eyes on my arm though, the left one that's closest to him. He smiles at it, though I can't be sure why.

"What?" I say, a bit defensive.

"Look," he says, then does something unexpected. He picks my arm up and holds it easily between two fingers, then uses his other hand to trace a section of skin. "This group of freckles right here is shaped like a 'J.' Did you make that for me?"

Now that he points it out, I notice, too. It isn't obvious, which tells me he must have been looking pretty hard to see it. It's a lowercase J, complete with a dot.

"Of course I didn't," I say.

"Let's see," he says, and tries to rub it off playfully. "Nope. Looks like it's legit."

A moment passes where my arm rests on his lap, and he uses his thumb to trace the shape of the letter dotted in freckles on my forearm. If I had chills before, now my entire body is a prickling mess. My head feels light, like it might fall off any second, and my stomach jumps like a thousand butterflies are trapped inside.

But the most confusing feeling of all is the one tucked between my thighs, in a place I've never thought about. It's pulsing, like my heart has found its way there, and the muscles seem tighter, desperate, wanting.

My breath comes quicker. Jackson has zoned out, now staring at the fire while still touching me. I can't control the sensations I'm experiencing, so I do the next best thing: run away from them.

"I-I should go," I say, pulling my arm away. "It's getting late. They'll wonder where I am."

He watches me stand, his eyes don't break away. "Do you want me to walk you back?" he asks.

I do. More than anything, I do. But I can't let myself have that. I need to figure out these feelings first.

"I'll be okay," I say.

"Alright," he says. "Night, kitty cat."

"Goodnight," I say, back already turned as I head out of the shed.

Once I'm outside, I break into a run until I make it to the house. I take my shoes off in the mudroom and slink inside, up to my room without being noticed. Once I'm there, I change into my nightgown, weave my hair into two French braids, and kneel to reach under my mattress.

My fingers come into contact with the book instantly, and when I pull it out, I read the cover.

 _The All-Encompassing Guide To Puberty and the Female Body._

I'm not really sure what puberty means, but I know I don't like the word. I look at the table of contents, using one finger to trace the words, until I find what I think I'm looking for.

Sexual arousal? Is that right? Is that why, when Jackson was stroking my arm, I was thinking about what he looked like shirtless this morning?

"Lord give me strength," I mutter to myself, then flip open to the chapter.

 _Sexual arousal can feel like sexual activation or even excitement. At its best, it's a full body experience. It most commonly occurs first in our minds with thoughts of sexual desire and then is felt in our bodies. In a state of sexual arousal most of us actually go through several different physiological changes as our body and mind begin to awaken._

Awaken? What is that supposed to mean? My cheeks blush red even though no one is in the room to witness me learning this. Even so, I'm mortified. One, at these words and two, that I've never been taught this.

 _Sexual arousal is the pilot light that has several stages and may not lead to any actual sexual activity, beyond a mental arousal and the physiological changes that accompany it. Many women simply describe that feeling as radiating heat._

Heat, now that's something that makes sense. Ever since leaving the shed, it's been incredibly hot down there. Wet, too, and I have no idea what that means. I keep flipping pages in hopes to find out.

 _Getting wet is the way a woman's body responds to sexual excitement and desire. When a woman is sexually excited, blood flow increases to the genitals so that the vulva and clitoris swell and the vagina lubricates itself, which is called "getting wet."_

I close the book swiftly and shove it back where it came from. I don't know what any of those body parts are, but I do know what I'm feeling between my legs right now.

I flip my bedside lamp on, make sure the curtain is closed, then take a deep breath. I pull up the skirt of my nightgown and hitch it around my waist, then slide down my underwear just slightly. In the dim yellow light, I see a very blatant patch of wetness.

That came from me.

From being aroused.

For the first time in my life.

Because of Jackson Avery.


	3. Chapter 3

_hey guys! so i just wanted to say thanks to those of you who plan on continuing to read my fic even though april will no longer be on the show after s14. i really, really appreciate it. along that same vein, i need now more than ever to know that people are still around and i have an audience. ive always valued your reviews, but please let me know that youre around and youre reading by consistently leaving me your thoughts. it only takes a few minutes, and when i get reviews it keeps me encouraged and makes my whole day. thank you!_

 **APRIL**

When I open my eyes the next day, I take a deep breath and roll onto my back. Something about my body feels different, uncomfortable, and it only takes a moment to register what it is.

My eyes widen when it dawns on me. The damp spot I noticed in my underwear last night has grown, and now it feels all wrong down there. Damp mostly, and very unclean.

I throw the covers off and slip out of my underwear, getting as far away from them as I can. I crumple them into a ball, shove it to the bottom of my hamper, and find a new pair right away, but not before hurrying to the bathroom to clean myself up.

Even though things seem to have calmed down, I still can't help but wonder what must have been going on overnight. The thought of Jackson's fingers was the last one I had before falling asleep, that's all I know.

I'm so embarrassed. No one knows but me, but the thought sits, smirking and taunting, from the corner anyway. Doing the laundry is one of Alice's chores, but I'll have to trade for it this week. I don't want her accidentally coming across those underwear and asking questions. I would have to dig a hole in the ground and disappear forever.

In an attempt to clear my mind, I undo my hair, run a brush through it, and make a new braid. I put on my jeans, tank top, and cardigan for this morning's chores, because the sun is already peeking above the horizon and the days are steadily getting warmer. I don't need a jacket anymore.

"Morning, mom," I say, passing her in the kitchen after going downstairs.

"Good morning," she says. "Do you plan on completing your chores today, or leaving them for your sisters?"

Her snark doesn't go unnoticed, but it's my duty to be polite in return.

"I'll get them done," I say. "I'm sorry for the last two days."

"You need to do better, April," she says. "Are you praying? Is this boy a distraction for you, would you rather have Libby or-"

"No," I say, then intertwine my fingers behind my back. "I can handle it. I promise, I'll prove it. I'll do better."

"God willing," she says, then turns back towards the sink.

I crease my eyebrows while I put on my barn boots, knowing I have to get back to how things used to be and continue to fly under the radar. I do a job that's just good enough, neither exemplary nor unsatisfactory. That's how it's been my whole life - I do not stick out, and I never plan on it. I do best by blending in; that's what I know how to do.

My arms tingle under my cardigan sleeves at the thought of Jackson, though, because what he makes me feel is scary. For the first time in my life, my emotions take front and center instead of the back seat. They're impossible to ignore, and they overcome my thought processes. He knocked me off my foundation with a simple touch of my arm.

I'm nervous, but simultaneously looking forward to what he'll make me feel today. I came out a bit earlier than usual, meaning we have more time alone, though I'm not sure whether that was conscious or not.

I'm not supposed to make friends with Jackson, but last night he tugged on my heart. He cracked my rigid shell, by just a bit. Would being friends really be so bad; would it be a mistake?

I don't know.

I tell myself not to try and control the situation; instead, to let it flow. But, judging by how I've been raised, that'll be nearly impossible.

I shake the thoughts from my head when I knock on his door, feet pressed firmly together and body buzzing. I swallow hard and wait for an answer, but I hear nothing. So, I knock again.

There's a grumble from inside, a mess of words I can't quite hear.

"It's April," I say, leaning forward a bit.

"Hold on," he murmurs.

"Okay."

I rock back and forth on my heels until the door comes open. When it does, Jackson stands there rubbing his eyes, squinting against the watery morning sun.

"You're early," he says, voice rougher than what I've heard.

"Just a little," I say.

He grunts.

"Did I wake you up?"

He nods, yawning, and turns around to change out of his shirt - a gray one that looks impeccably soft, atop a pair of lounge pants. With his back facing me, he pulls an everyday t-shirt over his head, and I try to convince myself that I'm not staring at the rippling muscles underneath his shoulder blades.

I lick my bottom lip and take an involuntary step back. Without a care, he shucks off his sweatpants and suddenly, I'm staring wide-eyed at tight black underwear stretched over a round, muscular butt.

I gasp, blink rapidly, and wonder why he's changing in front of me; then, I wonder why I'm still looking.

"Um," I stammer.

He hops a few times to get his jeans up and zips them while turning to look at me. "What?" he says, then outstretches a hand with a sleepy smile. "Alright, that'll be ten dollars for the peep show."

"I… I… you didn't tell me, I would've closed the-"

"I'm kidding," he says. "I don't give a fuck."

He closes the door behind him and we start to walk. "You're immodest," I state, plain as day. I hadn't really expected it to come out so bluntly, so I blush because of it and immediately say, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" he says, lifting his shirt to scratch his stomach. It takes everything within me not to look. "I am. I don't care. It's a body. We all got one. Who cares if you see mine? I know what it looks like. I'm not apologizing for it."

"And-and you shouldn't," I say, clearly flustered as I stare at my boots moving along the dirt path.

"Thank you," he says. "But I think you just broke Rule #7. And you're long past #6."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, scoffing.

"In that notebook," he says. "Your rules. Six, don't make friends with me. Sorry to break it to you, kitty, but we're already there. And seven is the one about the crush. You were totally checking me out in the shed, don't lie."

"I-I was not!" I say, voice rising in pitch. "I was not. I looked away."

"Yeah, whatever. Wipe the drool off your face, horndog."

I gasp slightly and wipe my chin with the back of my hand, completely mortified. When I do that, though, he cracks up laughing and the feeling only intensifies.

"It's just a saying," he says. "Jesus, you don't get out much."

"You already knew that," I say, opening the doors to the barn. "You say it as if it's brand new information."

He raises his eyebrows as I get the hay down from where it's stored. "Answer me this, then," he says. "Have you ever left the farm?"

"Don't be silly," I say.

"Other than to go to church."

"Of course I have," I say. "I go to the store, Matthew's house, into town sometimes…plenty of places."

He takes a step closer, unapologetically popping my personal bubble. "You don't have the urge to go anywhere else?" he asks.

"No," I say, face heating up as I toss the hay inside a stall.

"I could take you places," he says.

He's so close I can smell him. He smells like sleep - a warm, soft scent - with a slight undertone of something I'm not used to. Cologne, maybe.

"Places," I say, turning my head away. My heart is pounding and it seems to have situated itself in my throat, which makes breathing difficult. "And how would we get to these places?"

He smiles slightly, corners of his mouth pulling a bit. Going along with the tone of the conversation, he entertains the idea and nods toward the stall. "Horseback," he says.

I cross my arms and shift my weight to one hip. "You don't know how to ride," I say.

"You'd teach me," he says.

"I can," I say. "Right now."

His facial expression changes from smooth to surprised in a millisecond. "Wait," he says, chuckling. "I didn't mean for real."

"I did," I say, and he knows I'm challenging him.

"Seriously?" he says.

I nod.

"I've never been on a horse before," he says, stepping closer to the stall where our most well-behaved mare, Shira, is chomping on hay. "They're huge sons of bitches, aren't they."

I purse my lips at his language, but don't mention it. "Are you scared?" I ask, a bit taunting.

"Nah," he says.

I giggle softly, getting brave and inching closer. "It's okay if you are," I say. "I'll get on the saddle with you. We have a double, and she can take it."

His eyes glint. "She can take it, huh?"

I blink at him, confused. "Yes, of course," I say. "She's a workhorse."

He smiles softly, eyes downcast, amused at something I'm unaware of. "If you're down, I'm down," he says. "Saddle 'er up."

It doesn't take long to get a saddle and reins on Shira, who is compliant after she's done eating. I wave Jackson into the stall and he follows hesitantly, watching the ground to make sure he doesn't step in anything, then walks alongside me as I lead the horse to the pasture.

"It's really not hard," I say. "I'll let you get up first, since you take up more room. Put your right foot in the stirrup here, just like this." I show him, then remove my foot so he can put his in its place. "Good. Then lift your weight onto the saddle, and you're all set. Use the horn as a brace if you need to."

I watch Jackson haul himself up; he's strong, so it's not too daunting of a task, and I force my eyes away when a strip of his lower back shows. I avert my gaze, but I still see a smattering of hair there and I'm not sure how to feel about it. I never knew hair could excite me so much.

"Are you coming?" he asks, looking down at me.

"Yep," I say, and get up much easier than he did, swiftly and gracefully. I've been doing this my whole life.

But the only people I've ever ridden double with are my sisters, and they feel much differently than he does pressed against my back. As I get situated in the saddle, he grips my sides to steady me and I feel the pads of his fingers on my hips, holding tight. I stop breathing for a moment, spine rigid, until he speaks.

"You good?"

"Yeah," I answer, very quickly.

No matter how straight I sit, our bodies still touch. His chest is flush against my shoulder blades, stomach moving against the small of my back. With each exhale, the hair rises on the back of my neck as his breath moves over it, painting my skin crimson.

"Ready?" I ask, clearing my throat. This might be too much for me to handle.

"Yep," he says, voice directly in my ear. It gives me chills and sends shivers down my spine that I try and wiggle out subtly, but I think he notices due to the soft chuckle in response.

I give Shira a kick and she starts to walk, slowly at first.

"See, it's nice, right?" I say, turning my head to try and look at him.

"It is," he says, then makes a small sound in his throat. "I'm not trying to be a perv when I ask this, but can I put my arms around your waist? I feel like I'm about to fall the fuck off."

"Oh," I say, blanched as I face forward again. "Sure."

"Thanks."

He winds his arms around my middle, situating himself even closer. That place between my legs is throbbing again, much more insistently than last time, and I'm a thousand times more conscious of it. Mostly because of how close we are. Can he tell? Is it obvious?

"Should we speed up?" I ask.

"Why not," he says.

I give the horse another kick and she accelerates to a trot, which makes us bounce a bit. Jackson's arms tighten further as he pulls himself closer to me, maybe a little nervously.

"You okay?" I ask

"I'm good," he says. "Sorry for the death grip."

"It's fine," I say. "Speed up more?"

"Jesus Christ," he murmurs.

"Yes?"

"I mean, I guess," he says, laughing.

We heighten to a gallop, and I smile as the wind blows my flyaway hairs back and refreshes my skin. We slow down a bit to loop in a circle under some low-hanging branches, and I let out a shriek when one of them gets caught on the neck of my cardigan and yanks it back.

"Help!" I say, half-jokingly as the horse continues to move and my sweater stays.

"Hold on, hold on," Jackson says, then pulls it off in one swift yank. When I look back, it's hanging off the branch like some sort of sentient creature, dark green and limp.

Now, I'm left in only a black tank top. Naked arms, scoop neck, and much more skin exposed than what I'm used to. Especially around a boy. Especially around him.

"Y'alright?" he asks.

The sun beats down on us and turns his eyes aquamarine. I've never looked at them so intensely in such close proximity; I see concern, and something else, too.

"Fine," I breathe, still very conscious of my bare skin.

He nods slightly, and I stay pivoted to look at him. His arms are still around my waist, and now I'm staring at his lips because he's staring at mine. His eyes dart up to make eye contact, then back to my mouth, then further down to my chest. He doesn't even try and hide it.

He pulls his lower lip between his teeth as his pupils dilate slightly, then comes a bit closer. But, acting on a nervous whim with a jumping stomach, I flip around and snap the reins so Shira starts at a canter.

"We should head back," I say. "My sisters."

He lets out a long sigh that I feel on my neck more than I hear. "Right," he says. "Sisters."

I set Shira in the direction of the barn and she starts off. It only takes a few minutes to get there - we hadn't gone far - and when we get close, I see Libby, Kimmie and Alice making their way down the long driveway. I pray silently that they won't notice us, but of course, they do.

"Duckie!" Kimmie shrills. "What in the world are you doing?"

We get to the edge of the fence and I scramble for something to say. I have nothing to hide, we weren't doing anything wrong, but I can't help but feel they caught me in the act. The act of what, though, I'm not sure.

"You're practically naked," Libby hisses, eyes flashing.

"I was showing him how to ride," I say, then dismount. I guide Jackson down, and he brushes himself off once he's standing next to me.

"I was curious," he says. "Just took it for a spin."

"Her," Alice corrects, softly. "Shira's a girl."

"Her," Jackson says, clunky.

"Why are you dressed like that, Duckie?" Libby presses. "And why are you all red?"

I touch my shoulder and leave a stinging white fingerprint behind. I had thought she meant my blush, but she doesn't. My skin was exposed and I wasn't wearing sunscreen. I burn fast.

"Sunburn," I say.

"You were doing something bad, I can tell," Kimmie says. "I'm gonna go let Mom know. See what she has to say about it."

"Kimmie," I say, leaving the gate to trail behind her. Luckily, Jackson makes sure it shuts and latches. "I wasn't doing anything!"

"Then why are you so desperate to stop me, huh?" she says, throwing the words over her shoulder. "Be back in _just_ a sec."

Libby laughs as she watches our sister go inside, and Alice gravitates to me. Her eyes are wide and round, begging me to take action, but all I can do is stand there until Kimmie comes out wearing a satisfied expression.

"Mom wants to see you inside," she says. "And she wants Jackson to finish your chores. So, get on it, Jackson."

Just quiet enough for me to hear, Jackson mumbles, "Bitch."

I smirk to myself, but duck my head and walk to the house. When I go inside, the air is cool but my mother's demeanor is cooler.

"April, what is this Kimmie told me about you riding the horse with Jackson?" she snaps. "And where is your sweater?"

"I was teaching him how to ride," I say. "It was nothing. I was early for chores, and he asked me to. He wants to learn how to do it on his own someday, for something to do. You told me to give him stuff to do." I look up at her instead of the floor, eyes tearing. "I didn't know how to say no."

Liar, liar. I can't seem to stop.

"My sweater came off in the woods," I say. "It got caught on a branch. I got sunburned."

"I see that," she says, studying me.

She has no reason to doubt me, but I'm worried all the same. My motives don't exactly ring true - that's not why I took Jackson. I'm sure he has no interest in ever riding alone. But I couldn't easily explain to her that I had a strange desire to spend time alone with him, away from everything and everyone.

"This is the third morning you haven't completed your chores completely or correctly," she says. "So, you'll be skipping meals today and doing extra schoolwork."

My already-rumbling stomach sinks when I say, "Yes, mom."

"Good girl."

"It won't happen again."

"It best not."

…

The day passes slowly, holed up in my room. I part the curtains and look outside, watching the lights in the shed flick on as the sun sets. I complete an entire week's worth of schoolwork, which puts me too far ahead, then pull out the bible to do some reading.

There's a knock on my door past suppertime, and when I open it, Mom is standing there with a plate of food. My eyes widen as I grow hopeful, but she dashes those hopes quickly.

"It's for the boy," she says. "Bring it out to him, please." She glances at the bible open on my desk and jerks her head upward. "A verse, please."

"I will love You, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold," I recite. "Psalm 18:1-2."

"Very good," she says. "Here."

She hands me the plate and my stomach growls even louder as I slip into soft shoes instead of boots. My skin aches from the burn as I walk to the shed, and by the time I get there, I'm wincing because of it.

"Hey," Jackson says, opening the door wearing a smile. "I was just wondering when you were gonna come and get me."

"I'm supposed to bring this to you," I say, extending my arms.

"Oh," he says, taking it. "You guys already ate?"

I pause for a moment before saying, "They did."

"What do you mean?" he says.

I sigh, chew the inside of my lip, and look at the ground shamefully. "I didn't get to eat today," I say. "It was my punishment for earlier. But it's fine, I'm fine."

"What the fuck?" he says, eyebrows furrowing. "They starved you?"

"I should've known better," I say. "It was my second warning from my mother to do better on my chores, and I didn't obey. I deserve it."

"Fuck that," he says. "No, you don't. Come in here. We're gonna share this."

I widen my eyes and shake my head. "I can't," I say.

"Why?"

"They'll kill me."

"Nah," he says. "They'll never know. Get in here, kitty. Come here and split this with me, or I'm gonna like, throw it on the ground and go on a hunger strike."

I hurry inside and say, "Don't do that. It's wasteful."

"Then you better help me."

We sit together at the small table and he splits the chicken breast, bread and green beans with me. I try and eat at a slow pace like a lady, but it proves to be difficult with how ravenous I am.

"Want some of mine?" he offers, only halfway through after I've finished.

"No, thank you," I say, shaking my head.

He chuckles. "Alright."

I relax and let my eyes roam around the room so it doesn't seem like I'm watching him. When I lean back, though, my sunburn touches the inside of my shirt and I flinch away, teeth gritted.

"Y'alright?" he asks.

"Just sunburn," I say.

"Shit," he says. "That's right. Got anything you could put on that?"

"Maybe, in the garden," I say. "But there's no way I can do it by myself, and I'm not asking my mother for help."

"I'll hook you up," he says. "You're gonna suffer all fuckin' night if you don't put some on. Go get it."

I stand up, wary. "You're sure?" I ask.

"Why do you always look at me like I'm about to beat the shit out of you?" he says, chuckling. "Go get whatever it is, and bring it back."

I agree silently and walk stiffly to the garden, where I pluck a full and fat aloe leaf from the plant. I bring it inside and crack it open, and he stares at me like I've grown a third head.

"The fuck is that," he says.

"Aloe," I say.

"Aloe comes in a fuckin' green tube at Walgreens," he says. "This shit's not normal."

"It's the same thing," I say, standing across from him with my shoulders and back covered, shirt still on. "It's just unprocessed, I guess."

"Sure…" he says, then takes it from me. For a moment, we simply watch each other, wondering who will move first. "So… you want me to put this on over your shirt, or what?" he asks.

"Right," I mutter, and my hands start to shake.

I turn around and pull off my long-sleeved shirt, which leaves me in a camisole much like the tank top from earlier. But even though the shirt is similar, the situation is much different. Instead of being out in the open, we're together - just the two of us - in a very enclosed space. The air is thick with tension, and my mouth goes dry with nervousness.

"Shit, you're red," he says. "And this stuff is weird as hell."

"You don't have to do it," I say, reaching for my shirt to put it back on.

"Stop," he says. "Breathe for a fuckin' second. I promise it'll be fine. You're not gonna get struck down."

I let a long breath from my nose, close my eyes to center myself, and jump when the cool substance touches my skin.

"Yeah, sorry," he says. "It's cold."

That's not the reason, though. I reacted the way I did because of the gentle way he's touching me - in intimate places no one's touched before. The curve of my shoulder, the slope of my neck, the bumps at the top of my spine. He goes slow, takes his time, and makes sure to cover every inch. When it's time to flip around, he carefully moves my shoulders so we face each other.

When my eyes dart to his, he smiles gently. "Feel good?"

All I do is nod. I can't manage words.

He slathers it over my collarbones, but doesn't get near the scoop of my shirt. I'm sure he can feel my hammering heart, and as luck would have it, I've begun to sweat.

When he's finished, he still has a bit of aloe left on his pointer finger, so he playfully dabs it on the tip of my nose - eyes sparkling.

"There," he says.

"Thanks," I murmur, going for my shirt again.

"No, no," he says. "Let it dry."

"Oh," I say. "Right."

We stand in silence for a few moments, just watching them drift past. Then, he breaks the still air with a question.

"So no dinner, no dessert, they were just gonna let you go hungry tonight?"

I shake my head. "We don't eat dessert," I say.

"What?" he says.

I shake my head again and shrug.

"No sugar, ever?" he says.

"Never."

"You're fucking kidding me," he says. I look at him, deadpan. "Jesus Christ, you're not joking. You've never had ice cream, chocolate, candy, anything like that?"

"No," I say.

"For fuck's sake," he says. "That has to change."

"It's not healthy," I point out.

"Yeah, well we're all gonna die someday," he says. "Might as well make the ride a fun one."

I laugh to myself, quietly.

"We found out that earlier, huh," he says. "Honestly, that horse wasn't too bad. Scary as fuck, but kinda cool."

"It gets less scary," I say.

He pauses for a moment, then points at me. "I'm gonna get you some candy," he says. "Somehow. And you're gonna fuckin' love it."

"How?" I say, squinting.

"Don't ask questions," he says. "Just be patient. I'm sure that's something you're good at."

I smirk and look towards the floor, then lift my face when he tips my chin up with his thumb and first finger. My heart flutters as he studies my features, then he says, "You got it on your cheeks, too. Here."

He picks up the leaf again and dips one finger in, then smooths it over my cheekbones slowly. I stare at his face while he does it, but he never takes his eyes away from his work. My whole body is vibrating; I'm a tea kettle ready to boil over. I might start screaming at any second, steam shooting from my ears.

I can't stay here any longer. I have to get away.

"I think I'll go inside now," I say, following my body's lead. Every surface of my skin is pulsing, and all I can think about is the fact that I need to go get that book and do more research. Because I can't handle this pent-up feeling anymore.

"Alright," he says. "Tomorrow, bright and early."

"Right."

"Night, kitty."

"Night!" I say, and run back to the house like I've been lit on fire - because, in almost every way - I have.

…

I get ready for bed and stare at the book where it lies on top of my bedsheets, still closed. With my arms drawn to my chest, I take a deep breath and encourage myself - it's just a book, just words; it won't hurt me.

"It's okay," I say aloud.

After the chapter on arousal comes one titled with a word I've never heard before: masturbation. Bracing myself, I flip the page open and start reading.

 _Masturbation is the sexual stimulation of one's own genitals for sexual arousal or other sexual pleasure, usually to the point of orgasm. The stimulation may involve hands, fingers, everyday objects, sex toys such as vibrators, or combinations of these._

I blink hard, trying my best to keep up. It's not easy, seeing as I know nothing about these feelings or parts of my body. I find myself having to use context clues more than anything, but continue reading anyway.

 _Female masturbation involves the stroking or rubbing of a woman's vulva, especially her clitoris, with an index or middle fingers, or both. Sometimes one or more fingers may be inserted into the vagina to stroke its frontal wall where the G-spot may be located. Many women caress their breasts or stimulate a nipple with the free hand and anal stimulation is also enjoyed by some. Personal lubricant is sometimes used during masturbation, especially when penetration is involved, but this is not universal and many women find their natural lubrication sufficient._

Is that what the pulsing and throbbing is telling me? Is there some sort of release that comes along with all this, and will it make me feel good? I shut the book and lie down, feeling all at once entirely silly, curious, and ashamed.

This isn't what God teaches, but all the same, I have to get rid of this tugging sensation. He wouldn't have made it possible for my body to feel like this if there weren't a way to get rid of it - at least, that's what I have to tell myself.

I hitch my nightgown skirt up again and lie there with my bare, skinny legs illuminated from the moon shining in through window. I breathe deeply and part my thighs a bit, slipping one hand inside the front of my underwear to simply rest over what's inside.

I don't know what to do next. The skin is hot, a bit damp, and I feel my heartbeat tucked beneath my palm, but I have no idea how or where to start. I move my thumb in circles through the hair and touch either sides of the folds with two fingers, but I'm too scared to do anything else. What if I do it wrong? What if I hurt myself? What if God knows, and will punish me because of it?

I whip my hand out and hastily straighten my skirt. I turn onto my side, tuck my knees to my chest, and fall asleep wishing I wasn't so clueless.

…

I spend a lot of time with Jackson over the next two weeks. The warm weather in the morning turns hot, and we spend most of our days doing chores and making ourselves useful. My mother lets me take a break from school not only because it's summer, but because she wants my sisters to catch up. So, Jackson and I have been diligent on outdoor work, and I've been wearing wearing plenty of sunscreen.

Today, we've already completed our morning tasks and I'm at the border of the woods with Alice. We each have an apple, leaned against either side of a tree, enjoying the weather and the fact that we have no pressing responsibilities.

"Where's Jackson?" she asks, out of the blue.

I pause for a moment before answering, sounding a bit confused. "Why?"

"I don't know," she says, then takes a loud bite. "You're always with him. I barely see you by yourself anymore."

"I'm sorry," I say, self-conscious. "It's just that Mom told me to look after him and I've been trying the best I can. I don't want to get in trouble again."

"I know," Alice says. "I'm not mad. I just kinda miss you."

"I'm sorry…" I trail off. "I'll be better about evening out my time, okay?"

"Yeah," she says. "Do you like him?"

"He's actually nicer than he seems," I say. "He tries to hide it, but-"

"No," she says, with heavy emphasis. "Like… do you _like_ him?"

The blood drains from my face, and I'm thankful we're not facing each other because she'd see right through me. "No, no," I say. "We're just friends."

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Yes," I say. "Why?"

"I don't know," she says, sounding a little guilty. "I've been listening to what Libby and Kim are saying."

I get defensive suddenly, body prickling. "What do they say?"

"Not nice things," she admits, mumbling.

"Like what?"

"Well, they say you have a crush on him. But that he would never like a girl like you, and I don't even know what that means. But they were laughing, and not in a nice way."

I frown and pull my knees to my chest, then set my chin down on them. I don't have a response, because they're not exactly wrong. Of course Jackson doesn't like me like that, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends. I never expected us to be more. He makes my mind and body very confused, but I would never project those feelings onto him.

"You can't listen to them, Allie," I say. "They're not gonna tell you anything nice."

"I know."

"Hey, guys."

I look up to Jackson coming our way, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. My face brightens instantly when I see him, and I stand up to my full height and dust off my skirt.

"Hi," I say, waving.

"I have to go finish a book for school," Alice says, throwing her apple core into the woods. "See you at dinner, sissy."

I wave her goodbye and blink at Jackson while wearing a smile.

"Got something for you," he says.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Come to my place," he says, which is how he's affectionately began referring to the shed.

He has a fan so the air circulates, but it's not exactly breezy in here. It's a little stuffy, but doable. When we go inside, he walks to the nightstand beside his bed and turns around, hands behind his back, hiding something.

"What do you have?" I ask again.

"Close your eyes," he says.

"Close my eyes?" I say, incredulously. "No!"

"Kitty," he says, voice low and gravelly. A shiver runs through my body. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes…" I say, eyeing him through my lashes.

"Then close your eyes. I promise, you'll like it."

I take a deep breath and obey, shutting my eyes while listening to him come closer.

"Open your mouth," he whispers.

"Jackson," I say.

"Open your mouth," he repeats, and I have no choice. I part my lips just enough, and soon feel his fingertips on my tongue, placing something there that's cool and smooth. I close my mouth around it, capturing the pads of his fingers as he pulls them out, and he says, "Bite."

I do, and sweet liquid fills my mouth and overcomes my senses. I can't describe the taste, it's not anything I've ever experienced before, but it's life-changing. My eyes fly open as I chew, bright and wide as I watch his amused face.

"That's a cherry cordial," he says. "Cherry filling inside chocolate. Do you like it?"

I finish chewing, and some of the liquid drips from the corner of my mouth to slip down my chin. Before I can wipe it away, though, he does. He uses the pad of his thumb to gather it, then in the next moment, pushes that thumb between my lips so I can suck the sugar off. And I do. Without breaking eye contact, I wrap my tongue around his thumb and make sure it's clean.

When he pulls it out, I say, "I love it."

His eyes flash madly. "I thought you would," he says. "I have more, if you want."

"No," I say. "I'll save them. Where did you get these?"

He chuckles. "That's for me to know, and you to never find out."

…

Two nights later after dinner, I accept the invitation into the shed for another piece of candy. When the door shuts, I'm buzzing with excitement at the prospect of tasting sweetness again.

"Come sit down," Jackson says, patting the bed.

Hurrying over, I get comfortable quickly and run my hands over my lounge pants. Overtop, I'm wearing a gray zip-up sweater that I changed into after dinner, both made of soft material that's meant for relaxing.

"Here," he says, handing me a chocolate.

I find myself disappointed that he doesn't feed it to me, but I don't let on. That's just silly. As he sits down, I chew and relish the cool liquid spreading in my mouth, closing my eyes to fully appreciate it.

"This tastes so good," I say, eyes rolling back.

"I still can't believe you've never had candy before," he says. "That's so fuckin' wild."

I shrug, licking my lips. "At least I'm having it now."

"True," he says.

My big smile fades to a more subtle one as we sit together on his bed, a good distance between our bodies. I look at his arms and the tattoos painted over them, and try to single out just one.

"You ever seen tattoos before?" he asks, surprising me.

"Oh," I say, ripping my eyes away to look at his face. "Before you… once, maybe. Or twice."

"Probably nothing like this though, huh?"

I shake my head, eyes raking over his skin. "What's this mean?" I ask, pointing to the ocean wave I'd seen a couple weeks ago.

"I like the ocean," he says.

"You've been?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "A few times. Pacific and Atlantic. They're so fuckin' huge, it's almost scary. It makes you feel so small. I'd never felt like that before, and it was kind of a reminder like… we don't own the earth, you know."

I nod, soaking in his words. It's a tradition for us to have after-dinner conversations, and it's something I've begun to look forward to. He has such worthwhile things to say, and I'm not sure if anyone's ever sat down and listened to him before. Really listened.

"That sounds amazing," I say.

"You should go someday," he says. "You'd write some badass poems about it, I bet."

I shrug, writing it off. "I don't know."

"You don't have to be scared," he says. "It's a big world out there, but it's pretty cool. Not everyone is out to get you. There's so much to see."

"I know," I mutter, still concentrating on the tattoo.

"I'd take you," he says.

I look up into his eyes, unsure of how to respond. So, all I do is smile - a soft one, unassuming, gentle. He returns it, mirroring the expression, and his eyes are warm.

"What do you wanna be when you grow up, kitty?" he asks.

My stomach sinks. That's the question I hate most, because I've never had an answer. Not even when I was a kid, when my sisters were saying they want to be a mommy, a dancer, a superhero, I had no idea. And to this day, I still have nothing.

"I don't know," I admit, and it might be the first time I've said it out loud. Usually, I make something up on the spot - something easy - a teacher or something, like my mother. But this is different; Jackson is asking because he cares, because he wants to know. He's not just making conversation, and I feel safe telling him the truth.

"No?"

I shake my head.

"That's okay," he says, and nods reassuringly. "You got time."

Feeling settled and utterly surprised, I move to lie with my head on the pillow. With my knees bent, I look at him as he's still sitting up and notice another tattoo on his bicep that seems unfinished. I can't quite tell what it is, but it could be a word or the beginning of a phrase.

"What's that?" I ask.

He glances at it, then turns away. When he faces me again, his expression has changed to one of shame and remorse. "From a while ago," he says. "It was… it was a stupid time. I was a fucking dumbass."

"What happened?"

He shakes his head. "Thought I was gonna be in a gang or some shit."

"I thought you said before, that…"

"I know what I said," he mumbles. "I didn't wanna… I'm not proud of it. That's why that tattoo's unfinished like that. I didn't go through with it. Got out. I don't really like talking about it."

"We don't have to," I say.

He nods, jaw tightening. To brighten the mood, I decide to talk about something else.

"Can I have another chocolate?"

…

We spend hours talking that night; lying down with Jackson at my feet. The serious tones turn lighter and we end up laughing until we cry about things I can't remember, and we finish the box of chocolate between the two of us. I don't remember going back to my room.

When I open my eyes in the morning, Sunday morning, I realize why I don't remember. It's because I didn't leave.

I wake up and don't recognize my surroundings. This isn't my bed, isn't my room, isn't my space. I blink hard and assume I've been kidnapped until it all comes back. My eyes got heavy last night and as the thought of leaving crossed my mind, I fell asleep.

Now, Jackson is breathing deeply behind me, still gone. As I become more aware, I realize his face is tucked into my neck with one arm thrown around my middle, our hips lined right up.

My breath catches and gets stuck in my throat. I touch his hand warily, prepared to move it off, but he stirs and situates before I can, pushing his hips tighter against my butt.

There's something hard pressing into me, but I have no idea what. It feels incredibly intimate, though, and my heart starts doing flips and spins inside my chest. I've never been this close to anyone, ever, and I have no idea what to do or how to feel.

I know what I should do; I should leave. Judging they haven't already left, I need to get ready for church with my family. But right now, that's the last thing I want. It feels so good, being cocooned by him in this small bed; I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

He adjusts his hips again, breath shallower as he comes closer to consciousness. He makes a small sound in his throat and nuzzles his nose against my neck while tightening that arm around my belly.

"Mmm…" he rasps, sleepily winding one leg around both of mine to get me closer.

My eyes widen and my heart goes even harder. I think I'm going to explode.

"Mmm… kitty," he says, a bit more wakeful. "Morning."

I roll onto my back, swept up in the moment. He keeps his arm around me, leg too, and looks into my face as he props himself up on an elbow.

Then, in one smooth motion, he cups my jaw and lowers his face to mine. Before I know it, our lips are pressed together in a casual, sweet, morning kiss.

When he pulls away, my blood has turned to fire and my skin burns because of it. We blink into each other's eyes as he realizes what he's done, and I scramble out of bed with my fingers resting on my lower lip.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he says.

"I…" I clear my throat. "It's Sunday. Church. I have to get ready for church."

I turn and walk with purpose towards the door, and he stays watching me from the bed. "Kitty," he calls softly.

"I'm okay," I say, without looking back. "I-I'll see you later. I gotta go now. I… I gotta go."

I sprint out of the shed towards my house, extra quiet once I come through the mudroom. I peer around the corner to find the kitchen thankfully empty and the rest of the house pin-drop quiet. No one is awake yet.

"Thank you, God," I whisper, closing my eyes before tiptoeing up the stairs.

I don't fall back to sleep. I can't. I stare at the ceiling and try to keep up with my heartbeat, but it's pounding too fast. Before long, I lean under the bed and reach for the book that's become so integral to my existence these past few weeks, skimming until I find what I need.

 _An erection is a physiological phenomenon in which the penis becomes firmer, engorged and enlarged. Penile erection is the result of a complex interaction of psychological, neural, vascular and endocrine factors, and is often associated with sexual arousal or sexual attraction, although erections can also be spontaneous. The shape, angle and direction of an erection varies considerably in humans._

His penis? Arousal? For me?

I touch my lips, right where he kissed me. I suppose I'm not the only one becoming aroused when we're together.

We slept together last night. Side by side, his body wrapped around mine, breathing each other's air. It was intimate, more overwhelming than anything I've ever done.

When I hear footsteps in the hallway, I shove the book back under my bed and pull the covers to my chin, feigning sleep.

"April Olivia," my mother says. "Time to get ready for church. And after you're cleaned up, go and get the boy. He's coming, too."


	4. Chapter 4

_Guys! Thank you for your support and reviews. Please keep them coming, let's keep our favorite couple alive :)_

 **JACKSON**

Why the fuck did I do that?

I didn't mean to fall asleep with April last night. But she was there, lying on my bed, dozing off and looking all adorable. All I wanted was to be next to her; I didn't even touch her. I was going to wake her up after a few minutes, knowing she should probably get back inside.

But those few minutes turned into hours, because I blinked for too long and fell asleep myself. I closed my eyes on my back while she was on her side, but woke up spooning her. With a fucking boner, no less. Pressed right into her ass.

I lie in bed now and shake my head, then cover my face with my hands. April came out of nowhere and was just starting to warm up to me. There's something about her that's so interesting; I don't know what it is exactly, but it makes me want to be around her. Now, that won't happen anymore. I probably scared her off for good.

And I kissed her. I fucking kissed her. It was such a routine, easy moment where nothing else seemed right. It felt so normal - like we wake up together every morning, and the first thing to do would be lean over and give her a kiss.

The look on her face told me that was the furthest from what she had in mind, though. Also, it was most likely her first kiss ever, and I ruined that memory, too.

We'd passed the stuttering stage a bit ago, but she launched right back into it while doing everything to escape the shed this morning. I single-handedly reverted our confusing relationship back to square one, which is not a place I want to be.

I sigh, scrub a hand through my hair, and get up. I use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and take a quick shower - changing into casual clothes for morning chores. I think April said something about church, which means they'll be gone for a while, I assume. I'll have the place to myself for a few hours.

I might use that time to sneak to the corner store a few miles away, where I got the chocolate. Maybe I could use that as a peace offering.

Just as I'm headed outside, there's a knock at the door. It must be breakfast, which I gladly welcome, but when I open up I get a much different picture. April is there in a blush pink dress with a high collar, long sleeves, and knee-length skirt. She has on white tights and black flats, her hair in one long braid. She looks beautiful - not like she doesn't always, but a different kind of beautiful this time. One that makes my throat clog and my hands sweat, which I fucking hate.

"Hey," I say. "What's goin' on?"

"Good morning," she says, pretty eyes cast towards the floor. "Um, my mother wants you to come to church with us this morning."

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. I laugh a little and cross my arms, shaking my head with confusion. "Ah, no way," I say. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

She looks up, only briefly. "I don't think it's optional," she says. "She wants you there."

I frown. "Seriously?" I ask.

April nods.

"I don't have a choice in the matter, not at all?" I continue.

She shakes her head no, shuffling from foot to foot.

"Well, Christ," I say. "Fuck."

"Mom thought you might not have anything to wear," she says. "So, she gave me this for you to try on."

For the first time, I notice the clothing garments slung over her arm. She hands them to me, and I see black dress pants, a light blue button-up shirt and black jacket.

"They're Daddy's," she mutters. "She thinks you two are nearly the same size."

"Uh, okay," I grunt, eyeing them. "I'll get into these, then, I guess."

She nods curtly, then turns to head back to the house.

"Wait, kitty," I say, taking her wrist.

She stops in her tracks, looks at where I'm touching her, eyes widening. But in the next moment, she gently unravels my grip from hers and shakes out her hand, avoiding my eyes.

"I have to go," she says, very quietly, and turns around to continue walking.

I watch her as she heads in the opposite direction, and clench my jaw as I disappear into the shed to get changed.

"Stupid ass," I growl, shucking off my casual clothes and standing in my underwear. "You ruin fucking everything."

Frustrated with myself, I put on the church clothes and look in the small mirror. They don't fit perfectly, and I would never willingly choose an outfit like this, but it serves its purpose. I won't put up a fight.

I don't have shoes that match, though, so I slip into my Nikes and slump out the door. I feel like an intruder walking into the Kepners' house uninvited, so I wait on the porch and lean against the railing until they come out.

"We're looking forward to you joining us this morning, Jackson," Mrs. Kepner says, surprising me as her voice suddenly sounds. "How do the clothes fit?"

"Oh, they're fine. Thanks," I say, hands shoved inside my pockets.

The smile painted on her face is pleasant on the surface, but when I remember that she starved her daughter yesterday, different thoughts flash through my mind. This woman is hiding plenty of shit, that I know for sure. She's not what she seems, and I should be afraid of her - she wants me to be. I should, but I'm not.

"Jackson!" I hear, and turn to see Alice wearing a button-up dress that must have been handed down three times, because the color is faded and the hem is frayed. "You're coming with us?"

"Yep," I say.

She smiles, a grin that reminds me of April's when she frees up her reservations. "This is gonna be so fun!" she squeals.

I chuckle a bit, trying to be subtle as I look over her shoulder for the only sister on my mind. But the two I hate come next, Libby and Kimmie, wearing nearly matching versions of the same dress. They don't say anything, but the expressions on their faces are enough.

I hope I give one back that's equally as nasty. They can act superior all they want, but they'll never win when it comes to me. I've dealt with people just as foul as they are, but with a lot more life experience. I could run them into the ground if I wanted to, and maybe someday, I'll get that chance. But that day is not today.

April comes last, walking alongside her father. They're talking quietly, but grow quiet when she lifts her head and sees me. With wide eyes, she forces a watered-down smile, and I return it.

"Alright everybody, let's go," Mr. Kepner says, and we walk as a group to the biggest van I've ever seen.

Everyone seems to already have their assigned seats, and I somehow end up next to April in the way back. As we start to move, I glance over and find her staring at her lap, but she must feel my eyes because she looks my way before long and smiles, weakly again.

"You okay?" I ask, eyebrows creasing.

She nods slightly, then a little harder. "Yeah, I'm fine," she says.

"Look," I say, first making sure no one's listening. "I'm sorry about this morning. I didn't mean to… you know, do that."

She licks her lower lip; I watch her tongue slowly run along the seam. Simultaneously, she lets out a soft little sigh and transforms her face into a pensive expression.

"We can't talk about this now," she whispers. "Mixed company."

"Right," I say. "I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry. I stepped over the line, it was a lot. I wasn't thinking straight."

She nods minutely and says again, "Not right now."

"Yeah," I say, a bit disheartened.

When we get to church, it's a modest building with a tall, sharp-looking steeple poised on the roof. All of the Kepners file out of the van with me bringing up the rear, and I stare up at the bell in the tower while squinting against the sun.

"It rings every hour," Alice says, appearing beside me.

"Oh," I say. "Cool."

She and I stand in silence for a moment, not awkwardly, but not comfortably either.

"Did you do something to my sister?" she asks, forcing the words. "Is she mad at you?"

I crinkle my forehead as I look at her - this small, spritely version of April who seems to be her biggest protector. They have the same freckles across their nose, the same wispy hairs around their face, the same fire in their eyes.

"Everything's fine," I tell her, though those are words I don't believe myself.

"Then why isn't she talking to you?" Alice asks.

I shrug. "How about you ask her?" I snap.

She recoils a bit, stung by my tone, but I don't rescind what I said. This is the last place I want to be, and suddenly I'm bristling with the thought of sitting inside a church with a hundred other Jesus groupies and listening to a boring ass sermon. I'd rather be at the farm, or even better, back in Chicago.

Now, rage courses through my body in droves. I should've never been made to come here in the first place. I'm not going to gain anything from it. I wrecked my one chance at friendship, and now I'll spend the rest of the summer alone on awkward terms with April. This fucking sucks.

"Sorry," Alice says, then scurries away to latch onto April's arm.

"Jackson, this way," Mrs. Kepner calls, waving me along. As we get closer to the actual building, I hear her say to April, "Show him around."

April looks at me with a tired expression and gently detaches Alice so she can walk over.

"Stay by me," she says.

"Not like you fuckin' want me to," I grumble.

She looks surprised, but I don't take it back. I'm pissed off. I don't want to be here, and I shouldn't have to be. This is corporal punishment.

"Why are you acting like this?" she asks, eyes watery as she blinks rapidly.

"You said you don't wanna talk about it," I say, without looking. "So, let's not."

She sets her shoulders firm, trying to seem intimidating while almost a head shorter and probably 100 pounds lighter than me. She opens her mouth to say something, to argue, but is instead interrupted by that oaf from the porch a couple weeks ago.

"April," he says, eyes glinting. "It's nice to see you. We were wondering when you would show up."

She turns her attention away from me to center on him. "Matthew," she says, flashing a fake ass grin. "Hi."

They spend a moment just looking at each other, and I feel the secondhand embarrassment in waves. This is the single most strained interaction I've ever witnessed.

"Who's this?" Matthew asks, turning his head robotically, that rehearsed smile still on his lips. His eyes read differently now, though. There's something dark behind them.

"Oh," April says, glancing my way. "This is Jackson Avery."

"The one staying on your property," Matthew says.

"Yes," April says.

I still haven't said a word, I've been too busy sizing this guy up. When his hand juts out for me to shake, I take it firmly and surprise him with my strength.

"Nice to meet you," he says. "I've heard a bit about you."

"Can't say the same," I respond, and force a smile to shove the knife in deeper. "Are you a cousin of the Kepners?"

He lets go of my hand and lets his fall back to his side.

"No," he says, voice tight. "I'm a friend of April's."

He looks at her, practically begging her to return his gaze, but she doesn't. Her eyes are on me, gauging what I'll do next. To be honest, I'm not quite sure myself. I don't plan on embarrassing her, but I don't want this creep to think he has something over me.

"A friend, huh," I say, then grin. "Well, I am, too. I'm glad we have something in common."

He narrows his eyes and adds, "Well, she and I have been close for our entire lives."

"That's nice," I say. "So, you're kinda like a brother to her, then."

"Jackson," April mutters.

"What?" I say, jovially.

"Not quite like a brother, no," Matthew says.

"Well, with how small this town is, you never know. You guys could be related. Better not jump in bed together anytime soon."

April's face turns bright red, and she grabs my wrist forcefully while giving me an angry look. "Jackson!" she hisses, and starts to drag me away. "I'm sorry, Matthew," she says. "We have to get going."

"Wait, April," he says, and she pauses with her fingers still wrapped around my wrist, mid-yank. "I know you couldn't make it a couple Sundays ago, but how would you feel about coming home with us tonight and having dinner?"

She opens her mouth and a small sound escapes, but it doesn't amount to anything. I watch her, very interested how she'll react, and my skin tingles underneath her cool touch.

"I-I don't think tonight will work, no," she says. "It's late notice, and… and I promised Mom I would do extra chores. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he says, but his eyes clearly state the opposite, and he's up the ass with jealousy as she pulls me away.

"You cannot say things like that to him," April whispers, once there's enough distance between Matthew and the two of us.

"Like what?" I taunt.

She scowls. It's so fucking cute.

"You know like _what_ ," she says. "You know perfectly well. You're baiting him."

"Well, he's the dumb fuck who fell for it."

"You can't… you!" She lets out a sound of frustration. "We're in _church_ , Jackson. We can deal with whatever happened between us later, but right now, we're in the Lord's house. And you cannot speak like that!"

"Oh, so now you're gonna acknowledge something happened, ah okay," I say, nodding.

"You're impossible," she snarls.

"No," I counter. "That's you. I kissed you, and you've spent all day being an icy bitch."

She gasps. "I have not. Don't call me names."

I shake my head. "But am I lying?"

"April, Jackson," Mr. Kepner calls, and both of us look over. "Service is starting. Time to go."

She lets go of my wrist forcefully, snapping it back towards my body.

"Guess we'll finish this little chat later, huh," I say.

"Yes," she says, tensely. "We will."

I sit next to April during the sermon, hip-to-hip with the aisle to my left. If I'm being honest, I don't hear a word of what the pastor says, so none of it has a chance to sink in. I spend the whole hour staring at the stained-glass windows and people-watching, all while trying not to doze off.

After it's over, I'm snapped out of the trance I'd fallen into when April stands up, gesturing for me to lead the way out. I do, and we head back to the room we'd been in before for food and drinks, which is what I've been thinking about for a while now.

I busy myself at the snack table and turn around with a full plate to see Matthew's arm around April's shoulders as they talk to someone I don't know. I frown from across the room, face heating up with dumbass jealousy, and stare. He's smiling and carrying on with the conversation like there's nowhere else he'd rather be, but she looks shrunken beside him. First of all, she's tiny under his hulking frame, and he could be crushing her for all I know. He's most likely hurting her sunburn, which might be the reason she's cringing. Or, it could be because he's fucking unpleasant and about as deep as a kiddie pool. Either option is up for grabs.

I push my way through numerous people until I make it to them, and April's eyes light up with recognition once I get close.

"Hey," I say, nodding at her. "Want some?"

She looks at my plate, which I've piled high with sweets from the snack table.

"You know I'm not allowed," she murmurs.

"Sugar's a carnal sin," Matthew, knower of all, says.

I shoot him a disgusted look. "You wouldn't know much about those, though, would you, buddy?" I say.

There are many worse things I could say, but they might get me slapped. I'm not up for public humiliation right now, nor do I have any interest in making April more pissed off at me than she already is. Well, I'm pissed at her, too. Mutually pissed. I don't need to heighten that.

He doesn't know how to respond, so he just laughs awkwardly.

"April knows," I say, taking a slow bite out of a cookie that tastes like shit. I pretend it doesn't, though. "She knows more than you might think."

Matthew scoffs and looks at her. "What does he mean by that?" he asks, while trying to keep his tone light. It doesn't work.

"Nothing," April says, glaring. "I hear my parents calling. I'll… I'll see you around, Matthew."

"Sure," he says.

I smile at her, pleased, and she rolls her eyes and walks away. I have no other choice but to follow her to the quiet place she leads me, snack plate still in hand.

"What in the world are you doing?" she says. "Posturing like that."

"I wasn't doing shit," I say, still chewing.

"Yes, you were," she says, then pauses for a moment before continuing with, "Are you jealous of Matthew?"

I react instantly. "Fuck that," I say.

"I don't believe you," she says. "You-"

"We're leaving," I hear, and turn around to see Alice waving.

"Coming," April says, and brushes past me - leaving a cloud of her sweet scent behind. Before following, I shove a few treats into my pockets knowing that she might be annoyed with me now, but won't turn them down later.

…

We eat dinner together once we get back to the farm, and it's a quiet meal. No one has much to say, and it's weird as hell. Whenever I used to catch a meal with my mom, she'd talk my ear off. Now, with them, all I hear are gross ass chewing sounds.

But, as usual, April walks me out to the shed afterwards. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been looking forward to this all day. The air is warm and calm, and crickets chirp loudly from the woods as we get close to the treeline. She's wearing jeans and a ratty t-shirt, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her sunburn has only just started to fade, pink rather than lobster red.

"You acted horrible today," she says, breaking the ice that'd been slowly splintering. "And I didn't like it."

"What did I do?" I say, egging her on.

She sighs. "You purposefully riled up Matthew. You got enjoyment over making him uncomfortable, and that wasn't kind."

"Come on," I say. "It was a little funny."

"You didn't have to take out whatever you're feeling on him," she says, and we arrive at the shed door which I push open.

"Oh, so now that we're alone, you acknowledge that I have feelings," I say.

She frowns deeply. "You can't blame me for not talking about it around my parents," she says. "Or my sisters. If they knew, I'd never be able to spend time with you again."

"If they knew…" I say.

She blushes, cherry red. "That I slept next to you. That you kissed me."

"And that you kissed me back," I say.

She crosses her arms, but not before flattening her palm over something in her pocket. It's too big to fit, though, so she takes it out and sets it behind her. I'm not sure what it is, but she keeps a hand there as if to remind herself it's there.

"Look," I say, after a sizable pause. "I'm sorry for acting like a dick. But you… you fuckin' ran away like a bat outta hell this morning and didn't give me a chance to see where you're at. I'm sorry I was out of line with the kiss, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." I study her face and close my mouth for a second. "But something tells me I wasn't that far off-base."

She presses her chin to her chest and rocks her weight from foot-to-foot. "It was my first kiss," she murmurs.

The innocent way she says it hits me like a ton of bricks. I've never been around a girl like her, no less kissed one. She's inexperienced, naive, downright holy. I have no idea how to take her, but no idea how to get her out of my head, either. There's just something about her that reels me in, and I can't help but succumb to it.

She doesn't know what the world is like, though. She's barely been outside her own four walls, and that fact alone is crazy to consider. I don't know why I have such an interest in her, she's much different than who I usually go for.

But that crazy pull stays, and I don't want it to go anywhere.

"Like I said," I mutter. "I'm sorry if you didn't want it."

"But I did," she says, finally looking up with wide, searching eyes. "I did, and that's what scares me."

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. I let her have the floor if she wants to keep talking, which I assume she does. My girl loves to talk.

"I'm sorry for acting cold to you," she says. "Ignoring things that trouble me has always worked in the past. Ignoring, and praying, of course. But in this case, neither have done anything and I think I've exhausted them both."

She wrings her hands, those dainty hands with the short, skinny fingers and unpainted, trimmed nails. So basic, yet endearing.

"I think I like you," she says, then presses her lips together tightly. "And I can't like you."

I take a few steps closer, closing the distance slowly. She watches my every move, and I find myself worrying she'll run away. That's the last thing I want.

"And why's that?" I say.

"Matthew," she says, very softly, eyes on mine. "My parents. My religion."

"I can't like you, either," I say. "I'll corrupt you. I'll wreck this pretty little veneer you have going on… I'll hurt you."

"You won't," she says, voice lowering as her chin tips up to look at me.

I touch her jaw softly, fingers curling around the angle of it. Her lips are plush and perfect; I need to get mine on them.

"No?" I say.

She shakes her head. "I'm scared," she admits. "But it's exciting. I…" Her eyes dart between my mouth and my eyes, unable to land definitely on either. "I want you."

I smirk with one half of my lips. "Let me give you a real first kiss," I say, then stroke her cheek. "Can I?"

She licks her lips, clearly nervous, but I plan on making that feeling disappear.

"Yes," she says.

I tilt my head to one side and nudge her nose with mine, getting her used to the proximity before going further. Her breath hitches, her eyelids flutter closed, and her flat palms find my chest. She angles her chin upwards and puckers her lips, and I smile to myself as I take control and mold my mouth against hers.

All at once, things come together. She tastes sweet, her lips are soft, and her breath is tepid and shaky. I hold either side of her face as I close my eyes and lose myself in her, and she presses her fingertips more solidly into my skin, trying to keep up as I open my mouth.

I part my lips, but I don't give her tongue yet. It's not time. I simply meld my lips against hers and she does a good job keeping up, taking notice of my pacing, my rhythm, and by the time we pull away, I'm half hard.

"Oh," she says, pupils fat and swaying like she's drunk. She touches her lips and stares at mine, and I suddenly want everything with her.

She's fucking hypnotizing. I don't see anything else in the room besides this girl standing in front of me.

"You're amazing," she says, the words seeming to escape of their own volition. She looks surprised she's said anything at all.

I smile - I can't help it, can't control it. She's got a hold of my heart and is gently squeezing it - going harder as the moments pass and our eyes lock.

"You are," I say back, and take her hand. I want to consume her, envelop her, take her right here. But I don't, and I won't. It's much more complicated than that, which is something I fully embrace. I've never felt like this before.

"I should go," she whispers.

"Stay," I say, flirting as we inch even closer. "Sleep next to me. Let me kiss you first thing in the morning."

"I can't," she says, and her cheeks are so red I practically feel the heat radiating from them.

"I know," I say, and cup her chin to bring her face to mine. "Let me give you one more to dream about, at least."

I close my eyes as I press my lips to hers again, this time holding her neck and feeling her pulse beat madly. When I pull away, I take a bit of her lower lip in my teeth and watch it pop back into place, her gaze hazy as she steps towards the door.

"Tomorrow… morning," she says, still foggy.

"See you then," I say. "Sweet dreams, kitty cat."

She raises her hand in a small wave, and the door shuts. I glance out the window on the other side of the shed and watch her trot back to the house, ponytail bouncing as she goes.

My head feels like it's about to pop off. I'm feeling way too much to process. I take a deep breath and turn around to lock the door, and when I do, I notice she's left something familiar behind.

That little red notebook.

It stares at me from the table, where she put it when it got uncomfortable in her pocket. She'd had her hand on it like usual, guarding it from everyone except herself. It's taunting me as it lies there, and I know I should leave it. Not touch it, not do anything with it. I shouldn't even go near it.

But I'm too curious for that to happen. I need to know if she's written anything more - anything about me.

I glance out the window again with the book in my hands and, seeing no one, I sit on my bed with only the small light on. I flip open the book and pass the old entries and poems, thumbing through to find the newer stuff.

 _June 14th_

 _I've been spending a lot of time with Jackson lately. I know we aren't supposed to be friends, but there's nothing I can do to change that now. He's so different from anyone else I've ever met, and I really like that about him. He makes me laugh, and doesn't tease me in a mean way._

 _June 16th_

 _Today, I taught Jackson how to ride a horse. It was fun, but scary. Not scary because I was unused to riding, scary because we were so close to each other. He was right up against my back, breathing on my neck. It was terrifying, but I felt that thing again. I really need to figure out what to do about that._

That 'thing?' What the fuck 'thing' is she talking about?

 _June 30th_

 _He calls me kitty, and I love it. It makes me feel special, I don't know why. My heart feels funny when I'm around him, and whenever he touches me, all those feelings come back, which is so embarrassing. He brought me candy, and it was the best thing I ever tasted. It was even better because he fed it to me, and for some reason that was really exciting. I know, so weird. I've been so weird in general lately. He's making me think all these crazy thoughts. I looked up this word in that stupid book… masturbation? I tried to do it, and it didn't work. I just felt dumb. There's so much I don't know, and it's driving me crazy._

Fuck.

She tried to masturbate? Because of me? I shake my head and rethink that - the even crazier part of it. She's never masturbated before? She didn't even know what it was? Jesus Christ. How sheltered are these people? She's 18, and never touched herself.

Shit.

 _July 1st_

 _What I know is this / fluttering, jumping, flying / that's what I am with him / he looks at me, through me, inside me / at me, wholly / my heart worn on my sleeve / my words caught in my teeth / he turns me into everything / melts me to nothing._

 _'J. A.'_

I stare at those words, stomach flipping because they're meant for me. That fact stares me in the face. She doesn't always do a great job at hiding her feelings, but the way she writes them down is so beautiful and they deserve the time I spend studying them. I run over the swoops of her pen with my pointer finger and mouth the poem to myself, letting the rhythm soak onto my tongue.

It's sweet, like candy. Like her lips, her sighs, the air about her.

I close the book and blink hard, walking to set it back where I'd picked it up. I change into pajamas, flick the light off, and lie on my back wishing April was beside me. I have a feeling this won't be the last night my mind travels there.

I dream about her - explicitly and viscerally. I dream about my hands on her hips - bending her over and fucking her. But I dream about more than that, too; I dream about taking it further. I dream about slow mornings, sleepy kisses, sweaty, intimate sex just after waking up. I dream about parting her thighs and burying myself between them, of getting to know every facet of her - physically and otherwise.

In the morning, soaked in sweat with a raging hard-on, a knock at the door wakes me up.

She's here, and it's time for morning chores.


	5. Chapter 5

**JACKSON**

There's a knock at the door, but when I open my eyes, the windows are dark. Has the sun not come up yet? Is she really this damn early again?

I sit up and rub my eyes, totally disoriented, still half inside the dream I just left. When I squint at the clock on my nightstand, it reads just past 1am. What the hell is going on?

I get out of bed and look down, noticing the tent I've made of my boxers.

"Jesus Christ," I say, then pause in the middle of the room. Grabbing the first thing I see, I take April's red notebook and hold it in front of my crotch, thoughts still very cloudy.

The knock comes again.

"Coming," I grunt, and finally reach the door to open it.

When the door swings inward, April is standing there looking frazzled. She's wearing a long, ivory nightgown and barn boots - also, this is the first time I've ever seen her hair down.

"Uh, hey," I say, caught off guard by the dreams I'm still thinking about. The state of her hair isn't helping - I've never seen it this wild and unkempt.

She gasps. "You have it," she says, eyes downcast to where I'm holding the red notebook.

"Oh," I say. "Yeah. You left it here earlier."

"I thought so," she says. "I woke up and wanted to write, then noticed it was gone. May I have it back, please?"

I purse my lips, knowing what's hidden behind this stupid notebook. But I can't keep it, that'll look even more suspicious. I have no choice but to hand it over.

"Yeah," I say, then move to set it in her hands.

She gives me a curt smile and glances to where it had just been, and if I'm not mistaken, her forehead crinkles and a concerned look makes its way to her face as she stares at my evident bulge.

"Christ," I say, and attempt to fold my hands over it. "Uh, yeah. Sorry."

Her eyes roam to my face - though they move very slowly. "Did you read it again?" she asks, sounding suspicious.

I blink hard, still trying to wake up. I'd been deeply asleep, I feel like I'm in a different plane of existence right now. "What? I- no," I say. "Fuck no, no. I wouldn't… no."

She squints. "Liar."

"Don't call me fuckin' names," I say.

"I wouldn't call you one if you weren't one," she says, and her knuckles whiten with how hard she's gripping the book. "You read it, didn't you? Just tell me, Jackson. Did you or did you not read my notebook again when you know how much it bothered me the first time?"

"Fuck, Jesus!" I say, throwing my hands up. "Okay, fine. I did."

"Honestly," she says, scoffing. "Just when I thought I could trust you, you-"

"No, no," I say. "Don't pull that shit. You're not gonna do that with me, act all high and mighty. 'Cause I don't go for that."

"Why would you do it again?" she hisses.

"I don't know!" I say. "It was there, and I don't have much else in this hellhole. And anyway, don't you have bigger things to worry about?"

She shakes her head, lips parted in a disgusted, annoyed expression. "What are you talking about?" she says.

"Jesus, kitty, you're 18 and never touched yourself," I say, without sugarcoating.

The blood drains from her face and she takes one surprised step back. "What… you… you saw…"

"Yeah," I say. "Sure did."

"You weren't supposed to… I shouldn't have… you…" she stammers, holding the book to her chest with both arms wrapped around it. She stares at the ground, unable to move, and shrinks in on herself.

"Hey, hey," I say. "It's okay. Why don't you come in?"

She glances up very quickly before looking away again. "It's late," she says, an excuse. "I shouldn't."

"You're already out in the middle of the night," I say. "Just come in. Let's talk."

She pinches her lips, takes a moment to deliberate, then gives in. She comes through the door and I close it behind her, making sure it's locked. She slips out of her barn boots, which means she plans on staying a while - I'm happy about that.

"I didn't mean to make you feel bad," I say. "About not… you know, doing that. Really, I wasn't."

"Okay," she says.

"So, don't shut down," I say, trying to catch her eye. "Don't shut me out, kitty."

"I'm not," she says, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Seems like you might be," I say.

"You invaded my privacy," she says, eyes and voice full of subtle venom. "Twice."

I let out a long sigh and nod. "I know," I say. "And I'm sorry. I really am. No excuses, it was shitty. I shouldn't have done it."

She nods slowly, still tense.

"Do you forgive me?" I ask.

Her shoulders drop a bit. "Maybe," she says.

"Let me know when you get there," I say, then sit on my bed while leaving plenty of room. "Because, if you want, I could help you."

"What do you mean, help me?" she says, loosening, brightening.

I sigh and try to figure out how to say what I want without offending her. It might be impossible, but I might as well try.

"Masturbating is human," I say. "It's more than that - fuck, it's healthy. It's totally normal, and you should be able to do it whenever you want."

Her face flames fire-engine red. I don't let it deter me, though, because I think she's been severely slighted on the sex education front. I have no idea what she knows, but I have a feeling it's not much.

"Let me start at the beginning," I say. "You know what sex is, right? How babies are made?"

She keeps quiet, uses the silence as her answer. She bites her lower lip and meets my eyes, then I realize - she doesn't know.

"Fuck," I breathe. "Okay. Jesus. This is not… alright. Will you get over here and stop standing there like a weird ass? Just come sit next to me. We need to talk."

"About what?" she asks, taking baby steps. Her feet are bare and pale - bony, too, and fragile-looking.

"You know," I say, and pat the spot next to me. "Most kids learn where babies come from when they're like, 12. What happened? Who dropped that ball?"

She sits, and the mattress barely moves with the addition of her weight. She keeps the notebook on her lap and runs her thumbs over the cover, almost as if to soothe herself.

"I don't know," she admits. "It never crossed my mind to wonder, until…"

Her eyes find my face, and I suddenly get it. "Me," I say.

She nods, very slightly.

"So, since I'm the one responsible for your sexual awakening," I say, jokingly boastful. "I guess I'm the one who should tell you about the birds and the bees."

"Birds?" she says. "Bees?"

"Never mind," I say. "Let me think. Where should I start."

She licks her lips and turns towards me, one knee bent on the bed with the other leg dangling off. I have her full attention.

"So," I say. "I'm sorry if this sounds crazy, I'm not that smart, I-"

"Yes, you are," she says, earnestly.

"Nah," I say.

"You are," she says.

I downplay it again. "Well, you've never left this fuckin' farm, so what do you know?"

She frowns. "Stop being rude. I'm giving you a compliment, and I mean it. Accept it. You don't know how to accept things from people, Jackson."

I take a breath, and it sticks in my throat. I try and come up with an argument, but nothing materializes. All I can say is, "Damn."

She straightens her shoulders and says, "So, I'm ready."

"Alright," I say, chewing the inside of my cheek. "So, a woman is born with eggs in her body. Like, millions of them, I'm pretty sure. They're inside ovaries, which you have two of. One on either side." I point to her lower belly, and she watches my hand. "And dudes have sperm. They're stored in our balls. Which is kinda gross, if you think about it."

"Wait," she says, one palm up to stop me. "Balls?"

Christ.

"Uh," I say, frowning. "So, guys have a penis. It's like, this rod-shaped thing, sticks out from our bodies. They can be all sorts of shapes and sizes, and they grow when we get… uh, turned on. That's called an erection, or a boner, or hard-on, or whatever. And these two, uh, things hang below it - they're called testicles, but that word's fucking gross, so most people just call them balls. It's where sperm lives. You gettin' it?"

"Kind of," she says.

"Alright," I say. "Well, then for a baby to get made, a dude has to stick his penis inside a girl's vagina and shoot off that sperm. Which happens during an orgasm, and let me tell you - those are fuckin' great. That feeling you wrote about? That goes away when you have an orgasm, it's like the build-up to one."

"Oh," she says, then tries out the word. "An orgasm."

"Yeah," I say. "It's… hard to describe. But it's like, your muscles tense up and loosen and it's this crazy good feeling you get in your…" I can't help but let my eyes drift to the space between her legs, where the skirt of her nightgown gathers. "Area."

"Oh," she says again.

"So… the sperm goes inside the girl, and it fertilizes an egg. It doesn't happen on the first try - well, it can, I guess, but it usually doesn't. I've been lucky that way…" I pause to laugh for a second. "But when the egg gets fertilized, it does crazy shit for nine months and then baby pops out. I'd have to do some Googling to tell you how all that works, but if you want, I can look it up and tell you."

"If you want," she says.

"I might," I say. "Anyway, what I started off with was the fact that it's actually good to masturbate. And it's not that hard… like, 12-year-olds do it, and-"

"12-year-olds?" she says, blown away.

"I mean, that's when I started…" I say, eyes wide. "I was rubbing my dick on like, everything. On my mattress, between the couch cushions-"

"Jackson," she says, a bashful smile in her eyes.

"Hey, I'm just being honest," I say. "But let's be real, it's a lot easier for dudes than it is for girls. All we have to do is wrap a hand around our dick and move around a little, and there you go. Splooge. But you guys, well, it's a little more difficult, I guess."

She looks at me, facial expression open and clear. She doesn't look scared or put off anymore; now, she's almost interested.

"Why did you stop?" she asks.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Her eyes flash with a bit of worry. "How do girls do it?"

I let out a long sigh, puffing out my cheeks to buy some time. I have to think hard to figure out how to say this. I've been with my fair share of girls - I don't keep count, but it's not lower than 10 - but we never talked about how they got off. I was usually the one doing it for them. But due to porn and common sense, I know how it works.

"So…" I say, clearing my throat. "Girls have this little group of nerves called a clitoris. That sounds weird. A clit. It's basically the 'on' switch, like, you get to the clit and you're fuckin' in."

I can't read her facial expression, but I keep going.

"Tight circles usually works, two fingers. Pinching is good, too. It really depends from person to person, there's no right or wrong way. Some girls like to use their fingers, some use vibrators, I don't know… some like to hump pillows to get that feeling. It's always different."

"Hump...pillows?" she asks, confused.

Holy fucking shit. She really knows nothing.

"Like, stick a pillow between their legs and uh, rub on it," I say.

"Oh," she says, eyes flitting around the room without finding a place to land.

"Either way, no matter how you do it, it's good. It releases stress, number one. Makes that tension go away, huh? It can help you sleep better. Strengthen those muscles you're using, and also I've heard it helps with period cramps." I pause for a moment. "You know what a period is, right?"

She shoots me a harsh look. "Of course I do," she says. "I get one."

"Right, right," I say. "Sorry. Didn't know. So, what I'm trying to say is that you should just go for it. See what works. Find that little button and your life will change forever."

Her eyes speak louder than her mouth as she sits there, picking at her bare, square nails. Her lips grow thin as she presses them together, and I watch her tongue slip out to wet them.

"What?" I say, noticing her discomfort.

She shakes her head. "It's nothing," she says. "It's just not that easy for me."

"I promise, it's not that hard," I say. "You just-"

"No, no," she says. "It's not something my parents would ever approve of."

Realization floods my body as it dawns on me what she's worried about. "Oh," I say. "Well, that's easy. They don't have to know. You gotta be covert about it. Like, don't be obvious and do it in the middle of the day when everyone's awake. Save it for nighttime, and be quiet about it."

"Why would I be loud?"

I chuckle. "Never know."

Suddenly, with a clearer mind, I'm thinking about the kiss we shared before she left a few hours ago. How her body molded against mine, how she let me take the lead, how sweet she smelled and tasted. I want her again - I want that back.

She sighs again, she's been doing a lot of that. "I still don't think I'd know how," she mutters.

"It's easy," I say. "Look. Watch."

She picks her eyes up from the floor as I press two of my fingers together and hold them up.

"Like this," I say. "Quick circles."

I make the motion and her eyes stay cemented on me, even when I stop. She licks her bottom lip and one hand moves to rest on her thigh, close to her center, which must be more instinctive than anything. She's feeling it - I am, too.

I set my hands on my lap and spend a moment simply watching her. Her cheeks are flushed, pupils fat, lips glistening. Jesus Christ, I want her.

"I'm thinking about kissing you right now," I say, bluntly. I figure there's no use in pretenses - it already happened, and we both want it to happen again.

She nods and swallows hard. "Me, too," she says. "Will you… do you want to… do it now?"

I flash her a half-smile. "I was hoping you'd ask."

I close the space between us so our thighs are flush together and hold her face gently. With her cheeks pressed in just a bit, her eyes dart from my eyes to my mouth before I finally press my lips to hers with purpose.

She whimpers quietly, neck going just the slightest bit limp. I wrap my fingers around the back of it and bury them in her loose hair, opening my mouth to run my tongue along the pout of her lower lip.

She pulls back with surprise, biting where my tongue just as. "You…" she begins.

"If you don't want me to use tongue, I won't," I say. "But you're really fuckin' sexy, so I kind of got carried away… forgot you don't know much about-"

"I want it," she says. "Teach me."

If possible, my hard-on gets even harder and throbs inside my boxers. I close my eyes and kiss her again, and this time she parts her lips to let me inside. I touch the tip of her tongue with mine and she lets me, pushes herself closer, so I go further. I lick her bottom row of teeth, the inside of her lip, before sucking the bottom one in my mouth; I'm so turned on, I might explode.

I angle my body against hers so she'll lie down, and when she's horizontal she grapples with my shoulders and directs me to lie halfway on top of her. I situate myself so my boner isn't nudging her thigh and continue to kiss her, threading my fingers through her somewhat-tangled hair while her hot breath swallows me whole.

Moving away from her lips, I kiss down her jaw to the point of her chin, where she tips her head up and allows me lower. I lick her neck, which makes her whine with pleasure and dig her thumbnails into my shoulders.

"You like that?" I ask.

She nods, and something sparks within me when she clenches my leg between her thighs and changes the angle of her hips.

"The feeling's back, isn't it?" I say, pulling away to make eye contact. Her face is pink, lips swollen, and her temples are shiny with sweat. This is what I've reduced her to, and I'm capable of doing so much more. I can't fucking wait.

"Yeah," she says, pushing hair out of her face.

"Want me to show you?" I ask.

Her whole body radiates nervous energy, but it's mixed with pent-up tension that's been festering for years. There's an orgasm waiting that's begging to break free, and I want to be the one to do it.

"But if you don't want to…" she trails off.

"You have no idea how bad I want to," I say. "Let me work my magic."

"Magic?"

I kiss her cheek and nuzzle my nose against her. "I can send you to heaven, kitty," I murmur, and she trembles because of it.

"Yes, please," she whispers.

"Okay," I say, one hand slipping down her body to find the skirt of her nightgown. "I'm gonna lift this up, then."

She nods, still watching me intensely. I skim my fingers along the soft hair on her thigh until I get to her underwear, which are already damp.

"Mm, you're wet," I say, kissing the pocket beneath her ear. After I speak, I press two fingers against her over the fabric, with purpose. Her eyes shoot open, jaw dropping, when I start moving in circles - slow at first.

She lets out a puff of air, chest heaving with exertion. I don't take my eyes off from her face - I want to see every reaction. Each new facial expression, each new realization, is everything to me.

"Oh - my…" she squelches, struggling to form words.

I don't bother with dragging it out or making her wait; at this point, that'd be cruel. I go at her hard and fast, quickening my fingers and centering on what matters, until her hips buck once and knock my hand away. I cup her over her underwear while she comes, relishing the spasms and jerks, the sighs and holds of breath, continuing to stroke her until she comes back to earth.

She doesn't say anything at first. Instead, she leans to the side and throws her arms around my neck and a leg over my side, burying her face while breathing a wordless 'thank you.'

"I told you, they're amazing," I say, dragging my fingers down her back. The nightgown sticks to where she's been sweating, and I smile because of it.

When she lies flat on her back, she's still panting. She looks at me quickly and blushes, which I love, so I cup her cheek and give her a long, slow kiss.

"I don't know what to say now," she whispers.

"You don't have to say anything," I say, then remember something. "But I do have a surprise for you. Wait here."

I climb off the bed and head to the dresser, where I laid the treats I took from church. I bring them back and show her, and her eyes light up when she sees.

"You took these?" she says, excited.

"Thought of you," I say.

"What are they?"

I look at the small conglomeration of sweets and shrug. "A shitty cookie and two eclairs that might be gross by now," I say. "But they're worth a shot."

She flops her head back on the pillow and grins. "Feed me," she says, opening her mouth.

Fuck, she couldn't be more attractive if she tried.

I take one of the eclairs that really should be much colder than it is, and slip half past her lips. She bites down, never breaking eye contact, and grazes my fingers as I pull away and leave traces of custard behind. Custard that honestly looks like something much different, and gives me plenty of unsavory ideas when I use my thumb to push it inside her mouth.

"So good," she says, eyelashes fluttering as her eyes roll back.

I get close to her ear again and say, "As good as the orgasm I gave you?"

I pull back and feed her the other half, watching her eyes sparkle. "Not quite," she says.

We only spend a few more minutes lying there together until she glances at the clock and reality comes back. "I shouldn't risk it," she says.

"I know," I say, sitting up. "But c'mere. Don't think you're leaving without a kiss."

She smirks and walks over, standing between my knees as I stay sitting. I wind my arms around her and take a chance - I grab two handfuls of her ass and tilt her hips closer, and thankfully, she lets me.

She holds either side of my head and kisses my nose first, and I squint my eyes and smile in response. She moves to my lips next, caressing my cheeks and lingering just long enough before stepping out of my grip.

"Go try what I showed you," I suggest.

She backs up, keeping her eyes on me while she moves towards the door. "Are you gonna do the same?" she asks.

"You know me too well," I say.

"All I'll be thinking about is you," she says, hand on the doorknob.

"Same here," I say, and turn around to watch her leave through the window as she hurries towards the house.

I wasn't lying. I turn the lights out after she disappears inside and immediately throw my hand in my pants, jerking off to how her body felt writhing under mine just moments ago. I have a feeling this will be the first of many times like this. Afterwards, as I come down, I thank god I'm in Otsego, Michigan with April Kepner.

…

We're cleaning a stall the next morning, and it's already hot outside. We haven't had much of a chance to exchange conversation about what happened last night, because Alice has been attached to April like an infectious disease.

It's not that I dislike the kid. I like her fine, she's sweet enough. But she's a serious cockblocker. I've never drop-kicked a child before, but that might not hold true anymore after today.

The second the two of us are alone, though, April looks over and tucks a few flyaway hairs behind her ear. "I didn't do it right," she says, very quietly.

"What?" I say.

She furrows her eyebrows. "Last night," she says. "I tried. It didn't work. I'm still scared to do it like…" She pauses, checks over her shoulder. "Like you did."

"Oh," I say, dumping a shovelful of something nasty into the wheelbarrow.

"I didn't know what to do," she says.

I nod to myself and take a leap of faith. "Come back to the shed tonight," I say. "Late."

She looks at me curiously, but doesn't have a chance to ask for details before Alice peeks her head inside the stall. "Sissy?" she says. "Can you come with me to collect eggs now?"

April sighs and looks between us.

"Go on, I can finish up here," I say.

She mouths 'thank you,' and takes her little sister's arm, heading away. I watch her body as it sways to the rhythm of her pacing, and smile to myself. She has me wrapped around her fucking finger, and I'm the first to admit it. Not out loud, of course. I can't do that without sounding like a complete idiot. But in my head, I can say it all I want. I'd follow her anywhere.

I think about our late-night meetup all throughout the day. When I go to the shed and she goes inside for lessons, I sit and try and figure out how to make tonight different than yesterday - to push it further. I want to show her how it's done, help her figure it out herself, while still giving her a mind-blowing orgasm.

I look around and think about things I could utilize, ways to spice it up. The best thing I come across is my electric toothbrush, which I stare at for a long time before putting it on the nightstand.

During dinner, both April and I are quiet. It's not unusual, though, seeing as the rest of the Kepners don't usually talk while they eat, either. But I notice the tension tonight - the wondering, the calculating.

"Mom, can I walk Jackson to the shed?" Alice asks, bouncing on the balls of her feet after dinner is cleaned up.

Jesus fucking Christ, can I catch a break with this kid?

"He's April's charge," Mrs. Kepner says. "But you may go with them."

Alice giggles innocently and grabs April's arm. April flashes me a less-than-amused expression and leads the way outside, where Alice starts to skip.

"April and Jackson, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage!"

"Alice Joelle!" April scolds, and I raise my eyebrows at the tone of her voice. She's not taking any shit tonight. "Stop it right now."

"Why?" she asks, pushing her two braids behind her back. "It's true. You guys like each other."

"Stop," April says, teeth gritted. "I told you to stop talking, so stop."

Alice's eyes flit to me, then back to her sister. "Fine!" she says. "Meanie."

April sighs and steps closer to the young girl, away from me. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to yell," she says. "I just… I just don't want you to say things like that, okay? It will give Mom the wrong idea, then Jackson would have to go away."

"I don't want him to go away," Alice says.

"Me, neither," April says, very emphatically. "So, please, will you just behave?"

"Yes, sissy."

"Thank you."

I stay quiet as the walk comes to an end, and when we get there, Alice throws her arms around my waist in a big hug.

"Sorry for singing that song," she says. "I didn't mean to make you embarrassed."

"Hey, it's cool," I say, patting her a bit awkwardly.

She looks up and finally detaches, saying, "Goodnight, Jackson."

"Night, squirt," I say, then nod towards April - she knows what I mean.

Tonight.

…

The hours pass like fucking years as I wait for her. I try and get a nap in, but that doesn't work. She's all I can think about; April, and what we'll be doing in this room in no time at all. But that no time feels like _all_ the time with nothing to do.

When I finally hear the knock, I rush to open the door while still trying to play it cool. I slow my roll once I get close and straighten my spine, answering like I hadn't spent the last few hours counting down the minutes until she got here.

"Hi," she says, smiling mischievously.

She's wearing lounge pants and a short-sleeved shirt instead of the nightgown like last night. I can't decide which getup I like better.

"Hey," I say. "Come on in."

She smiles politely and steps past me, hands folded behind her back like she sometimes does. Her hair is up, tied in a ponytail, and her face is fresh and clean. I can't wait to get my hands on her.

"Sorry about Alice," she says, once I shut the door. "She's been having nightmares lately. I think she's going through a growth spurt or something. Being so needy."

"It's okay," I say.

She shrugs. "Well, it's kind of annoying."

"Kind of."

"It kept me away from you," she says. "And I… that's not what I wanted today."

I smirk. "Me, neither," I say.

She pauses for a moment, looking around the room like she's never seen it before. "So," she finally says. "Do you still want to… teach me?"

I let myself graze her body - from her twinkling eyes, modest chest, slight hips, down to her bare feet. "Yes," I say. "Fuck yes."

She flushes. "Okay," she says. "Then, where do we start?"

Part of me is surprised we're going so quickly, not wasting any time, but another part is taken aback. Of course I'm ready, but I need to know that she is, too - for what I have in mind.

"I wanna teach you hands-on," I say.

"Okay," she says, stepping closer.

"And… that means you have to trust me," I say, then take her hand. "Do you trust me, kitty?"

She nods slowly, bottom lip in her mouth. "Yeah," she says.

"Good," I say, stroking her skin. "Then, if you're comfortable, I want you naked."

Her eyes go wide with surprise. Her hand freezes in mine, and I can't help but wonder if I took it too far.

"Naked?" she says. The tone of her voice doesn't sound abhorrent to the idea, just caught off-guard. I use this chance to explain myself.

"It's a full-body experience," I say. "I want you - and me - to be able to touch other parts, too. While it happens, to make it happen."

She looks at me, gauging my reaction for approval as she moves to skim over her breasts. I nod - that's exactly what I mean.

"Oh," she says. "I just… I've never been naked around another person before."

"I figured," I say. "If you don't want to, it's cool. I would never make you do something you're not comfortable with."

She studies me for a while, hands still near her chest. "I'm comfortable with you," she says. "Are you… will you be, too…?"

"Naked?" I ask. "If you want. Whatever will make you feel more at ease. Or, neither of us have to be. It's all good either way."

"I want to take my clothes off," she says, a surge of confidence coming from deep inside. "And you… you can take off your shirt."

I don't think she knows how to handle my penis yet, and that's okay. She doesn't have to. She needs to learn about herself and her body first before we even get close to mine.

"Sounds good," I say. "Do you want me to turn around, or…?"

She doesn't look away when she says, "You can watch me."

I nod, pretending like I'm totally cool and collected, and strip off my shirt. She ducks her head and pulls off the tee she's wearing, then slips out of her sweatpants to stand in front of me in her bra and underwear. She steels herself for a moment before winding her arms around to unclasp her bra, letting it hang forward while stepping out of her white underwear, leaving them in a pile on the floor after.

I do my best not to stare, but Jesus fucking Christ on the cross, she's a damn piece of art. She has curves in all the right places that have stayed hidden by her clothes - her breasts are small, a bit triangular in shape until the round undersides, and her nipples are a perfect dusky pink. Between her legs, she's unshaved - which I had expected, due to the soft fuzz I felt on her legs yesterday. I'm unused to it, but very open. I can't wait to touch her. She is the best thing I've ever seen.

"Come here," I say, beckoning her forward.

Arms crossed, she walks over and I hold her face. "You're beautiful," I say. "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?"

It's a rhetorical question, so I'm surprised when she answers, "No."

"What?" I say, skimming my hands down her arms.

"I'm not beautiful," she says, very softly.

"Take it back," I say, instantly. "Take it back, because that's not true. You're the most fuckin'... Jesus, I can't take my eyes off you, kitty."

"Jackson," she says, turning away, embarrassed.

"I mean it," I say, turning her head back with two fingers on her chin.

She shakes her head, eyes still wandering.

"Sit down with me," I say, and lower to the floor with my back against the wall.

As I go, I take the electric toothbrush from my nightstand and set it nearby, while directing her to rest between my legs. She leans back against my chest - skin on skin - and I envelop her thighs with mine.

"Just like that," I say, and she leans her head on my shoulder to look at my face. Meeting her eyes, I drop my lips to hers in a slow, wet kiss.

"You're such a good kisser," she says, blinking slowly and smiling like she's drunk.

"So are you, quick learner," I say, and she smiles wider.

I continue to kiss her while exploring her body with my hands. I start at her neck, tracing the angle of her collarbones and the soft divot between them before slipping lower to cup her breasts. She gasps into my mouth and arches her back involuntarily, and I hold them a bit tighter. I graze her nipples with my fingernails and feel them harden to peaks, and pinch them softly before moving south and bumping over her ribcage.

I trace her bellybutton with one finger and she widens her thighs, taking my wrist with the hand that isn't around the back of my neck to direct it lower. Surprised by her eagerness, I laugh into her mouth and she returns the sound while continuing to pull.

"Touch me," she says. "Show me."

"Give me this hand," I say, and take hers. I position her two fingers just how they should be, and guide the movements between her legs - slow at first.

She moans into my mouth, craning her neck to kiss me harder, and our hands find a rhythm on her core. I grip her breast again with my free hand and squeeze it, enjoying the supple weight in my palm, and she loses her breath.

"You're doing so good, kitty…" I say, still encouraging her hand movements. "You feel it?"

"Uh-huh," she says, breathing shakily. "Don't stop."

"You're doing all the work," I say, smirking.

"I like it better… when you…" she breathes, pushing back against my chest forcefully and widening her legs out. I move to kiss her neck, licking a path to her shoulder while zeroing in on her clit and tightening the circles to push her closer.

"You're fuckin' perfect," I say, kissing her neck over to her shoulder. Her skin is sweaty and slick, and I lick every last drop. "I know you're close, baby. You wanna come?"

"Yeah," she whines. "Make me… oh god, please make me…"

"Hold on," I say, then brush her out of the way to slide two fingers deep inside her. Her eyes fly open and she grips my thighs, back arching from the way it feels.

"Just like… oh…" she moans, voice all pitchy. "I'm really close, Jackson… please…"

I thrust my fingers in and out at a medium pace, thoroughly enjoying the way her hips rise and fall to meet them. She's responding to everything in the way I hoped she would, and I've never been harder than I am right now. I feel like I could blow my load without having to touch my dick at all.

"One more thing," I say, reaching for the toothbrush. I take off the top and turn the bottom part on, hearing it buzz to life before slipping it between her legs. I deftly press it against her clit while still fucking her with my fingers, and I'm rewarded with how she comes unwound.

"Oh, Jackson!" she shrieks, and traps my hands between her thighs.

Her whole body trembles and spasms so powerfully that she lifts from the floor and falls back with a sated thud. When she lands, though, she's still twitching and jerking, trying to catch her breath while turning around to kiss the hell out of me.

"How'd you like that, kitty," I say, winding my arms around her to cup her ass.

"You're so good," she says, turning her head to kiss me deeper. "You're so, so, so good… I never knew… I…" She pulls back, still holding my face, and smiles before kissing me again - with tongue.

"Never knew you could feel like that," I finish.

She shakes her head with her lips still on mine, and I kiss her back with all I've got. Her whole body is perspiring now, slippery because of it, and I do everything to get my hands everywhere I can reach.

She kisses my neck, sucks on my Adam's apple, and I groan. "Fuck," I mutter, digging the pads of my fingers into her back.

She giggles softly and licks her way down to my chest, where she runs her hands over my pecs and shoulders. "I don't wanna leave," she says. "But I have to."

I pull her face up and kiss her again, wanting nothing more than to toss her onto my bed, fuck her senseless, and fall asleep wrapped around her. But I know that can't happen; she can't stay for long. It's too risky.

"I already miss you," she says, tucking her face into my neck after pulling on her t-shirt. When her head pops out, she looks at the floor where I'd discarded my tool. "And was that a… was that a toothbrush you used?"

"Worked, didn't it?" I ask, eyes glinting.

She covers her cheeks with her hands and shakes her head before kissing me again. "I never wanna stop kissing you," she whispers.

"Can never have just one," I murmur, lips moving against hers while she puts on her pants.

We stumble to the doorway, completely and stupidly caught up in each other. So much so, we almost don't hear the knock on the window a few feet away. Almost.

"What was that?" April says, pulling away with bruised lips and worried eyes.

"The wind," I say, trying to pull her back by the waist.

She fights me, though, and twists out of my arms. "I heard something," she says. "I swear I did."

"Kitty, you're paranoid," I say. "There's nothing-"

"Sissy?" we hear, and both freeze before April throws open the door to find Alice with tears running down her face.

"Alice!" April says, pure panic in her voice. "What are you doing?"

"I had a bad dream, and you weren't in your room!" Alice sobs, barely able to catch her breath. "I checked the whole house and didn't know where else to go. Sissy, what are you doing out here with him?"


	6. Chapter 6

**APRIL**

I'm not a liar by nature. Before I met Jackson, I never told anything but the truth. I never had the inclination; there was no reason to lie. But now, there's a bigger reason than I could've ever imagined.

"How long have you been here, Allie?" I snap, eyebrows lowering, trying to keep my panic mode under wraps. Alice can't see how worried I am, else she'll be suspicious.

She doesn't answer - she's crying too hard. This is how she gets when put on the spot, she breaks down. It's how I can be, too. We Kepner women are not taught to be strong, we're taught to bend to another's will. I never wanted to be the person Alice bent to.

"Allie, please," I say, trying to soften my tone. I feel Jackson's nervous presence in the doorway, hulking and hovering. After a glance over my shoulder, I kneel and wrap my arms around my sister in a tight hug. "I just need you to tell me how long you were standing there."

"Two - seconds!" she blubbers. "I saw - I saw the light on and - and you weren't anywhere else, so I thought you must - you must be here."

"Okay," I say, rubbing her back.

She didn't see us kissing or even worse, naked on the floor. That would've been the end of me, and definitely the end of Jackson. My father likes him as it stands, but if Alice had seen what we were doing and told him, Jackson's life would be in danger. Under the surface, my father is very old-fashioned, just like my mother. Just like I used to be, before Jackson taught me how to feel.

"Why weren't you in your bed?" she wails. "I tried to find you!"

I throw a look at Jackson before winding an arm around her shoulders and leading her back to the house. I mouth 'goodnight' and 'I'm sorry,' and he shakes his head and waves me along. He knows what I have to do. Still, though, I'm disheartened our goodbye was cut short. I'd been enjoying it so much.

"I left something in the shed earlier, and I needed it," I say, knowing the lie isn't all that great. I hope it will still hold up, though

"Oh."

"But you can't come running to me every time something happens. Mom and Dad are there, too. And Libby and Kim."

She gives me a disgusted look, lip raised and everything. "I don't want them," she says, then hugs my waist as we walk. "Only you."

I sigh and stroke her hair, wondering what to do. I can't have her clinging like this anymore, not with how I'm sneaking around. I can't have her on my trail, following me, possibly outing us. It's dangerous, but I don't know how to make her stop. I would never be cruel like our other sisters - I love her too much, and it's not in my nature.

"I just want you to try and learn a little independence," I say, treading water. "I'm not always gonna be around."

She jolts her head to look at me with wide eyes and a trembling lower lip. "Where are you going?" she asks, voice wavering. "Are you leaving? Are you going away? Sissy, don't go. I'll be good, I promise."

"Shhh, stop," I say, kissing her forehead as we sneak in through the mudroom. "I don't mean right now, today. Be quiet. Or else, Mom will wake up."

She clings to the fabric of my shirt, still worried. "You always said you were gonna live close by with Matthew when you grew up. And now you're not?!"

I take a deep breath and let it out with my eyes closed. "I'm tired, Alice," I say. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"But you said!" she insists, right on my heels as I try and disappear into my bedroom.

"I'll stay, alright?" I say, voice rising a bit. "You're not losing me, I'm not going anywhere."

Her shoulders relax a bit, tension fading slightly.

"Okay?" I say, knowing it's what she wants, what she needs, to hear.

She nods, then wipes her eyes. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

I hesitate for a moment, knowing what's on my mind because of Jackson, and what I planned on trying, but ultimately shove all that aside. She needs me more.

"Sure," I say, then welcome her inside.

…

I don't sleep much. Partly because Alice has always been a bed hog, and partly because I can't get Jackson out of my head.

I only close my eyes for short bursts at a time, waking up once every hour to roll over or yank the covers back. Finally, at 5am - two hours before we have to be outside - I give up and give in.

I prop myself on an elbow and nudge Alice's shoulder. She's a heavy sleeper, though, so I have to jostle her to get any sort of reaction.

"Allie," I say. "Allie."

"Hmm."

"I'm going outside early," I whisper, through the cool darkness. "I'm gonna get a head start, because Mom is testing me today on literature."

"Uh-huh," she says.

"You have two more hours," I say, making sure she hears. "Okay? Don't get up and follow me."

She makes a cross face and tugs the quilt over her shoulders. "I'm sleeping, sissy," she grumbles, and rolls over further.

I smirk to myself, satisfied, and change into a pair of jeans and a blue crew neck sweatshirt. I put my hair in a loose braid, make my way downstairs for my barn boots, and notice Mom isn't even awake yet. If I get enough done, she'll be proud of me for being so proactive.

But I have to indulge a little first.

The gravel crunches under my shoes on the path to the shed; I'm too excited to walk slowly. I pick up the pace and trot until I get to the door, which I don't bother knocking on. I push my way inside to find Jackson in bed, sleeping, faced away from me.

I don't want to scare him, so I sing/whisper, "Jackson…"

He doesn't stir. I get closer after taking off my boots and peer around to his face, which is placid and calm - he doesn't even stir. Carefully and slowly, I set a hand on his bare upper arm to rouse him, and he jumps with fright almost instantly.

"Who - what the - who's there," he says, flipping over and rubbing his eyes.

"Just me," I say, stroking his skin. "Sorry."

"You scared the shit outta me," he says, words slurred and voice groggy. "W'time is it?"

"Early," I say. "Really early. Can I get in bed with you?"

"Mm, yeah, of course," he says, scooting over. "But if you think you're cuddling with jeans on… no, no way."

"What?" I say.

He shakes his head, eyelids still heavy. "Scratchy," he says.

"Oh," I say, and find a solution. I simply take them off and leave them in a pile on the floor, then climb over him with only a pair of light pink underwear on my lower half. "Cold," I say, shivering a bit and shrinking into myself.

"C'mere," he says, and wraps his sturdy arms around my shoulders to pull me close. He envelops us both in the covers, and I take a chance and wind my legs through his. "Jesus fuck, kitty, you're freezing."

"I know," I say, nestling my head beneath his chin. "That's why I have you."

He chuckles softly and holds me tighter, kissing my hair, which is all he can comfortably reach with his lips. "You cozy?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm," I say.

"Who knew you were so snuggly," he says, and I smile as the words come out.

"Now you do," I say.

"Guess so," he says, nodding.

"You're like a big teddy bear," I say, giggling at the comparison.

"Fuck that," he grumbles sleepily, which only makes me giggle harder. "Go to sleep, kitty."

"Alice was hogging my bed all night," I say. "And you didn't give me a goodbye kiss."

He adjusts slightly and pushes my hip so I roll onto my back, then opens his eyes. "Here, needy," he says, and holds my neck while pressing his lips to mine. "Now, will you go to bed?"

"Maybe," I whisper. "One more."

He smirks and shakes his head, then kisses me deeper than he had before. He strokes my cheekbone with his thumb and slips his tongue just slightly inside my mouth. He tastes like morning breath, but I don't care. Maybe I should, but it doesn't put me off at all. I wind my arms around his neck, rub my nose on his, and smile so wide it hurts.

"How am I supposed to sleep now," I whisper, reaching to trace his eyebrows.

"Like this," he says, and fully closes his eyes again. He holds my waist and I drag my fingernails over his arm, feeling his breath puff onto my neck from where his head is on my shoulder.

"Fine," I whisper, and turn on my side so we're face-to-face. Actually, it's more like his face is in my chest, but it's good enough. I throw an arm over his shoulders and, though I swore I wasn't tired anymore, I fall asleep stealing his warmth.

I open my eyes a little later to see he's already awake, eyes on me.

"Stop," I say, ducking my head to hide my face. "How long have you been staring?"

"Long enough to know you're fuckin' beautiful," he says, uncovering my face by tipping my chin up. "Morning."

"Morning," I say. "What time is it?"

He peers over my head to look at the clock. "6:30," he says.

I smile and pull myself closer, and he kisses me as I do. "We have a little time," I say.

"Wanna make out?" he murmurs, one hand sliding down to rest over my butt. My butt, which is only covered by my underwear, and that I can't believe he's touching. No one's ever laid hands on me like this.

"Make out?" I ask, never having heard the term before.

He smiles. "Like, kiss and touch each other and shit."

"Oh," I say, licking my bottom lip. "Then yeah."

He smirks and holds my face, then zeros in for a kiss. I smile against his mouth as he gets me closer, one hand spanning out over at least half of my back. I love how big he is - he makes me feel safe and protected.

He pushes himself to rest on his forearms and hovers above me, and I lose my breath as we make such close eye contact. He kisses the apple of my cheek and I scrunch my nose, winding my arms around his neck so he'll get closer.

"You smell good," he says, lips under my jaw.

My core tightens and throbs when he licks my throat, closing his lips around the skin in aggressive kisses.

"Like what?" I ask.

"Soap," he says. "And something sweet."

"You're something sweet," I say, cheesing and widening my thighs so he has a better place to rest. He lowers his hips between mine and kisses me again, and I try my best to slip my tongue into his mouth like he's done to me.

"Someone's getting brave," he says, skimming my ribcage with one hand.

"Was that okay?" I ask. "Was it bad?"

"Fuck no," he says. "It was great. Do it again."

I giggle and touch his face, then close my knees in on him. He gets a bit closer, and I feel something poking my inner thigh, and before I can think about it too hard, the words slip from my mouth.

"Is that your erection?" I ask, pulling away and watching his lips follow as I do.

"What?" he says.

My eyes flit lower. "It's poking me," I say. "Is that your penis?"

"Christ," he says. "Yeah. Sorry. I can… we can stop, it's just… it's hard not to, when you're… the way you are, and shit."

I laugh quietly. "We don't have to stop," I say. "I… like it."

"Yeah?" he says.

I nod. "I like knowing I made you feel that way."

"You definitely make me feel some type of way," he says, then covers one of my breasts with his hand.

"I do?" I ask.

"Mm-hmm," he says, and squeezes.

I arch my back closer and he moves to my throat, then lower to the dip between my collarbone and neck. He draws a line of kisses from there to the slight swell of my breast, then mischievously kisses my nipple through the fabric of my shirt.

"That feels good," I say, surprised. I know breasts and nipples are for nursing babies; I never knew they could be sexual. I didn't know attention could make them feel like this. "Is it supposed to?"

"Uh-huh," he says. "Can I show you? Lift up your shirt?"

I nod shakily, and he follows through. He pulls my shirt completely off and I'm left under him topless and bare, watching and waiting for what he'll do next.

As always, he surprises me. He opens his mouth wide and completely covers one breast, sucking it forcefully into his mouth while his tongue works in circles. I grunt and whine, holding tightly onto his head, and sink my blunt nails into his skin.

"Mm, Jackson," I moan, when he pulls away. Now, both nipples are hardened and stiff, pebbled and straining.

He licks the left one, long and slow, then sucks it into his mouth again. I watch him intently, thoroughly entranced, and see their coloring turn flushed from pale.

"Why do they do that?" I ask, as he peppers kisses from one side to the other. He sucks the smooth, soft skin into his mouth and leaves behind red marks, marks he's seemingly making on purpose.

"What, harden up?" he says, then reaches to pinch one between his thumb and first finger. While keeping his eyes on mine, he lowers again and laves his tongue over it, cheeks hollowing as he pulls it into his mouth.

"Yeah," I say.

"Blood rushes to them, I think," he says. "Kinda like a dick, maybe."

I snort with laughter at his clunky explanation. He's too distracted to give me much more.

I continue to watch as he makes those same red marks all over my chest, and light bruises even bloom with some.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Shit," he says, looking alarmed. "Am I hurting you?"

"No," I say. "I just want to know what you're doing."

"Oh," he says, pressing a soft kiss to my sternum. "Giving you hickeys."

"Hickeys?" I repeat.

"Marking you up," he says, one hand slipping south. "Where no one can see but me."

He kisses the underside of my breast, and my eyelashes flutter while he traces circles around my bellybutton.

"Want me to get you off?" he says, and I assume he means what I think he does.

I nod fervently and say, "Yeah… yes, please."

With his mouth still on my breast, he slips his hand inside the front of my underwear and parts my folds to go inside. His erection prods me the whole time, which only encourages the situation as his fingers find their way deeper and deeper. After he abandons my chest, he picks his head up to watch me, and I don't get self-conscious with his eyes on my face - instead, I like it.

"That feels good, doesn't it, baby…" he says, voice low as his hand moves at a rapid pace.

"Yeah," I whine, back arched so it lifts completely off the mattress. "Really, really good."

Quickly, he rubs his thumb in circles over what must be my clit and sends me flying over the edge in a spiral. I can't control the way my body shakes and trembles, so violently I almost fall right off the bed. He keeps an arm around me, though, as he pulls his hand out, then sticks those fingers in his mouth to suck off what I must've done.

I don't bother asking why; I don't think we have enough time to get into it. I'm still trying to recover.

"Now I'm all… sticky," I say, situating my underwear. "I'll have to take a bath after chores."

"You're welcome for that," he says.

I nudge him playfully with my shoulder and sit up. "Shush," I say.

"Ooh," he says, then rests his chin on my shoulder from behind. "That's basically your way of telling me to shut the fuck up. I like it."

"I'd never say something like that," I quip, gently tapping his forehead with my knuckles.

"Someday, you might," he says, and kisses the side of my neck. "Bet you never thought you'd get fingered out in this shed, but…"

"Stop!" I say, thoroughly embarrassed. "We have to go now. My sisters will be out soon, and I don't want Alice asking any more questions about me being in here."

"I know, I know," he says, circling my waist with his strong arms.

"You're not doing a very good job of letting me up," I say, twisting a bit to look at him. I hold his jaw and kiss him, closing my eyes to relish the feeling. When we pull apart, our foreheads stay pressed together as we drink in each other's presence. I don't want to be let up, that's for sure, but I don't have a choice in the matter.

"Maybe 'cause I don't want you to go," he says, sliding one hand up my bare back to remind me how naked I am.

"I know," I say, then kiss him firmly before saying, "Mmm. I know."

"Just lock the door and we'll stay in here all day," he says.

He tightens his arms around the small of my back, which arches it towards him. He nudges my chin to kiss my neck, and I throw my head back so he has access to all the skin he wants. He gets to the open plane of my chest, using a hand to cup my breast and pull it towards his mouth, then tries to kiss it.

"We can't," I say, then regretfully push him away by the forehead. "No more."

He flops back, arms out wide to either side of him. "Ugh," he grunts.

"I know," I say, and stand up to redress. Once I have my clothes back on and my hair is back to a respectable state, I hear light sounds coming from the direction of the house. "I gotta get out there," I say.

"Alright," he says.

"You coming?"

He sits up, propped by both elbows. "I gotta take care of this," he says, nodding towards the evident bulge in his pants. "Since kitty cat over here likes to get me going, then leave me high and dry."

My face reddens and I clasp my hands together. "I… I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't know… I wasn't expecting, I should've…"

"I'm just fuckin' around," he says. "Go on, I got this. I'll be two seconds."

Relief floods through me as I wave and hurry out of the shed, given just enough time to make it look like I was in the barn instead.

It's begun to rain, which has started the creation of mud puddles and soggy grass around the barn. The horses are irritated because of it, and all the cats are inside. The chickens are hiding in their coop, but the ducks are surely enjoying it. Alice is, too, though I have to scold her not to play in the water. Mom doesn't like us getting dirty.

Jackson comes out a bit later and gets the hay down for the horses while I grab the basket and head to the birds. I'm hoping there's enough eggs to gather today, but I don't have time to wonder for long before being intercepted by Libby and Kimmie.

"Hey, Duckie," Libby says, standing just under the awning of the barn. "Where's your little boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend," I say, frowning. "Excuse me. I need to collect the eggs."

"He never leaves your side," Kimmie says. "It's so sad. Maybe he needs glasses."

I'm confused now. How would they know something like that?

"He can see just fine," I say, stating the obvious.

"Clearly not," Libby says. "If he willingly spends time with someone as ugly and dirty as you are. Just look at you!"

I hold the basket against my chest, unable to respond. I've been free of them for a good handful of weeks - I hadn't seen this coming. I guess I should've; I'm overdue.

"She's right, just look at you," Kimmie says, walking closer. "Your scraggly hair, flat chest, all you are is bones. And your freckles… they're like a permanent layer of dirt." With the last words, she drags her thumb over my cheek roughly, then looks at it. "Sad, they won't come off."

"Please, just leave me alone," I mumble.

"Aw, she's sad," Kimmie says, lower lip out. "Libby, make her feel better."

"You're already dirty," Libby says, coming towards me. "Might as well go all out."

With that, she cements two strong hands on my shoulder blades and shoves me forward so I land face-first in a giant, soppy pile of mud. For a moment, I simply lie there and listen to them cackle before sitting up and wiping the mud from my eyes.

"Look at her!" Kimmie shrieks, barely able to catch her breath. "Little Duckie playing in the mud! Aw, so cute. I wish we had a camera."

Libby feigns the picture-taking motion and makes the sound effect to go with it. "Aren't you gonna get up?" she asks. "Or are you gonna play in it, like a little pig?"

"What the fuck's going on?" I hear, and Jackson turns up out of nowhere. I stare him from where I sit, half reclined in the mud with rain pouring down on me, absolutely drenched and filthy. "Jesus, what happened to you?" he says, hurrying into the rain without hesitation and extending a hand. I take it and he pulls me up, then out of the rain.

I don't answer. I can't, not with Libby and Kimmie staring me down.

"The poor thing fell," Libby says. "We were about to help her, but then you showed up."

"Yeah fuckin' right," Jackson says.

"It's true," Kimmie says, eyes wide and innocent. "Go tell Mom if you think she'll believe any differently."

"I need to get the eggs," I say, heading back into the rain.

"Come on," Jackson says. "They can wait."

"No, they can't," I say, and jolt him off.

I trudge through the downpour and collect what I can, then bring them back with a small cloth covering them. Looking down, my clothes are completely brown, along with the dirt caked on every surface of my skin. I'm a wreck. My mother will surely kill me.

"You can take a shower in the shed," Jackson offers, when I come through the barn.

"No," I say. "I can't."

"Why not?"

I turn my head to glance back at Libby and Kimmie, who are watching us out of earshot. "They'll tell," I say. "I have to go in the house."

"Fuck them!" he says. "I don't know why you don't stand up for yourself. Show them what's-"

"It's not like that," I say. "They'll win. They always do. Please, I don't need a lesson right now. I just want to go get washed up."

He looks at me for a long time, then gives in. "I'll walk you," he says.

I debate putting up a fight, but decide against it. When we go through the mudroom and head into the house, I stand in the doorway and wait to catch my mother's attention. It doesn't take long.

"Good Lord!" she shrills. "What in the world did you do to yourself, April Kepner?"

I set the basket of eggs on the counter and take off my dirty boots. Even my socks underneath are coated in mud.

"I fell," I say, meekly.

Jackson clears his throat loudly, obtrusively enough to catch Mom's attention before she diverts back to me. "You fell?" she says.

"So hard, it's like she was pushed," he mumbles.

"What have I told you about being more careful?" Mom snaps, harshly. "Today of all days. April, you're such an embarrassment sometimes. God give me strength to…" She trails off. "Go upstairs and take a bath. The Taylors are coming over for lunch, and all I'm trying to do is make this house presentable. And you come in looking like this... I can't be expected to continue to take care of you like a child. Do you understand?"

I've heard these words from her a million times before, but the ones that stick out are _the Taylors are coming over for lunch_.

"Yes, mom," I say.

"I won't have you tracking mud through this house, either. Strip down right there."

I move to the hem of my shirt, ready to lift it over my head, before I'm scolded again.

"Not in front of the boy!" Mom commands. "Give me strength. Jackson, you'll be joining us for lunch, so please get yourself cleaned up, too. April will come out and get you when it's time."

I feel Jackson's eyes, but there's no way I can look at him right now. All I can do is cower and wait for the next instruction until he leaves. He wants to say something so badly, I can practically hear the words forming in his mind, but he stays silent because that's what I asked him to do.

"Sure," he says, turning around to leave.

Once he goes, Mom returns to the kitchen and I shed my muddy clothes and walk through the house nearly naked. Immodesty is frowned upon, so Mom keeps her back turned as I put the clothes in the washer and head upstairs for a bath.

It takes a while to scrub off the dirt given the amount of water I'm allowed to use, and when I finally finish, I hear my sisters' voices gathering downstairs. I put on a nice dress and braid my hair tightly, then slip down the stairs in hopes to pass them without being noticed.

"Are you okay after your fall, Duckie?" Kimmie asks, her voice sickly-sweet.

Mom turns around for my answer, and Libby's eyes are on me, too. Alice sits at the table, staring at the wood, head down.

"I'm fine," I say, nearly a whisper.

"Your sisters were worried about you," Mom says.

"Thank you," I say, still just as quiet.

Mom nods curtly. "Go get the boy. The Taylors will be here soon."

"Yes, mom."

I put on my rain boots and find an umbrella, then head out through the storm. When I get to the shed, I find Jackson in dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He looks nice, but the expression he's wearing is frustrated.

"Hi," I say, closing the umbrella and shedding my shoes.

"Hey."

"Are you okay?" I ask, padding over.

He looks up and takes me in for the first time. "You look nice," he says, eyes scanning the navy blue dress with a high collar and buttons.

"Thanks," I say, standing in front of him. "Are you mad?"

He nods tersely. I set my hands on his shoulders, but my touch does nothing to ease the tension.

"They can't treat you like that," he says, glancing up. "You can't keep letting them."

My gut sinks. I don't want to talk about this. He shouldn't have been there for what happened earlier in the mud. I didn't want him to see me like that, so weak; I didn't want him to see how much power my sisters have over me.

"They'll stop eventually," I say.

"When?" he says. "When will they stop? When they actually hurt you for real?" He shakes his head and stands. "The day I first got here, you had that cut on your cheek. I called you Shawshank. Remember? They did that to you, didn't they?"

My silence is all he needs.

"I fuckin' knew it," he says. "You can't just sit back and let them, April. You can't keep pussying out. That's why they keep doing it. Stand up once, and they'll stop."

"I can't!" I say, and cross my arms.

"Let me, then," he insists.

"No," I say. "Then, they'll know something is up between us. Please, just leave it alone. I know you're just… I've been dealing with them my whole life. It's really not-"

"That's what I fuckin' mean," he says. "Why should you have to?"

"I don't know!" I say, and charged air flows and crackles between us.

He sits back down, elbows on his knees, foot tapping. "And now, this Matthew bastard is coming over. Seriously? And I have to eat lunch with this guy?"

"We all have to," I say.

"Well, he and I already have beef," Jackson says.

I don't bother asking what that means, though I've never heard the phrase. I can use context clues just fine.

"He tries to piss all over you," he continues. "I'll get into another dick-swinging contest with him, I don't give a fuck. 'Cause I'll win, and he's stupider than I thought if he doesn't know that."

"Jackson," I say.

"What?" he snaps. "He thinks he owns you. It's so fucking gross. I fuckin' hate…" He clenches his fists, and it dawns on me. He's jealous.

Instead of calling attention to it, though, I find another way. "I don't have feelings for Matthew," I state, calmly.

"Yeah, well," he continues. "He thinks you do, and that's enough. For him, at least. He's so fuckin' sad."

"I don't have feelings for him," I say, shifting my weight to either foot. "Because I… because…" I take a deep breath and let it out. "I have feelings for _you_."

He freezes, and I wonder if I've said something wrong. Maybe I shouldn't have told him at all, maybe that's the furthest thing from what he wanted to hear.

"You do?" he asks.

I nod slowly, pressing my lips together. He opens his mouth to say something in response, but no words come. I can tell by the look on his face that he's never been presented with this type of situation before - neither have I.

"Shit," he says. "I… me, too. I have feelings for you, too."

He smiles, almost bashfully. It warms my heart from the inside.

"I like you," I whisper. "I don't like Matthew. Jackson, I like you."

He smiles again, that same boyish grin. My heart is beating so fast that I press one hand to my chest in attempts to calm it down, but of course that doesn't work.

"Do you like me, too?" I ask.

"Fuck, of course I do," he says, then comes over and wraps me in his arms. He holds my face and kisses me with purpose, holding my cheeks while pressing his lips to mine again and again. "Kitty," he says, still holding me. "Do you wanna be my girlfriend?"

My eyes widen and my lips part. I never thought I'd hear those words in a thousand years.

"Yes," I say, and my cheeks hurt I'm smiling so hard. "Yes, of course I do."

He twines his arms around my waist and pulls me close, grinning against my mouth as we kiss. "Thank god," he says. "I had no fuckin' idea what I was gonna do if you said no."

Interrupting our moment, the sound of wheels on gravel sounds from the driveway. Jackson and I make quick eye contact, and we both know who just pulled up. The Taylors are here.

"Ah, fuck," Jackson says, peering out the window.

I sigh and try to compose myself, taking a few deep breaths and closing my eyes. When I open them, Jackson is watching me.

"I really don't want this guy around," he grumbles.

"Jackson," I say, working up my gumption. "You're my boy. Not him."

I've never seen him smile in the way he does in that moment, eyes flooded with feeling, teeth glimmering. "Yeah," he says, and kisses my forehead while holding my shoulders.

We walk out of the shed together, but with a good distance between us, and see Matthew and his mother getting out of their truck. I wave to them and they wave back, then I paint on my best smile.

"No Cara today? Jim?" I ask. Cara is Matthew's little sister, and I like her company. She gets along well with Alice, and the three of us are good friends when put together. Jim is his father.

"They're at church," Matthew's mother, Deborah, says. "It's so good to see you, April. Aren't you just beautiful?"

I smile and let her hug me, then shoot Matthew a polite, yet removed, glance. "Hi," I say.

He nods and smiles just enough.

"And who might this strapping young man be?" Deb asks.

"This is Jackson," I say. I'd do anything to be able to introduce him as 'my boyfriend,' but obviously, that can't happen. "He's staying with us this summer. We're hosting him."

"How lovely," she says. "Will he be joining us for lunch?

Jackson answers her, but looks at Matthew when he says, "I sure will."

A little while later, the eight of us are sitting around the dining room table. Matthew is in Daddy's seat, after my mother insisted, and we're eating grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup. I've done my best not to make eye contact with Matthew the entire afternoon, and we haven't exchanged one-on-one conversation yet. My family doesn't tend to talk while we eat, which turns out to be a godsend. More than anything, I want time to speed up so the Taylors will leave. I know it's wrong to think that, but I still do.

I start to clean up the dishes after we finish, and Jackson jumps to help me. We clear everyone's plates and throw glances at each other, and I don't even think to wonder if Matthew is watching.

From the kitchen, as we load the dishwasher, I hear Kimmie speak up.

"You know, Matthew, you have competition around here," she says, and I perk up instantly.

"Oh, yeah?" he says, appeasing her.

"Yep," she says. "Duckie's got an adorable little crush on Jackson. You better not let her slip away."

"Kimberly," Mom scolds, and I grip the island from one room over.

I look at Jackson, and his eyes say enough. I set down the dish towel I'd been holding and go back into the dining room, where I stand in the entryway with full intent of telling her off. But all I do is hover, rooted to the spot, mouth open, eyes on my middle sister. She's so pleased with herself, having rendered me speechless yet again, and I know I've already lost. For the millionth time.

"April, dear, why don't you and Matthew take a walk?" Mom says, ever-so-sweetly.

The sweetness is fake, though, I know more than anyone she has ulterior motives. She heard what Kimmie said, too, and there will be no entertaining it. Me taking Matthew around our property is her silent promise to Deborah that yes, our courtship is still alive and yes, we will still be married one day. I will be April Taylor before long, and she has nothing to worry about.

"Yes, mom," I say. "I'll go tell Jackson-"

"Don't worry about the boy," she says. "We'll take care of him. You worry about Matthew. Have fun."

I nod obediently and he stands up from the table, towering over me as we make our way to the front door. When we're outside, just the two of us, the air is stagnant and more silent than ever.

"Did you enjoy your lunch?" I ask, holding my hands behind my back as we walk.

"Yes," he says. "Your mother is an excellent cook."

"Well, it was just grilled cheese and canned soup," I say, attempting a lighthearted tone.

"It was delicious," he says, not picking up on the humor at all.

"Right," I say, listening to the gravel under our shoes. I take us past the shed, through the barn, and walk along the border of the woods as he continues at my side without a word.

"Have you been well?" he finally asks, turning his head slightly.

I don't match his gaze. "Very well," I say, eyes on the grass. "And yourself?"

"No complaints," he says. "It was kind of your mother to invite us here today. I've missed seeing you on a regular basis."

"I know."

"You leave church so quickly these days," he says. "And… _he's_ always with you."

"We're treating him as a part of our family this summer," I say, bristling.

"More so," he says. "What I mean is that he's always with _you_ specifically."

"He's my responsibility," I say.

"Right," Matthew says, placid as ever. "But after what your sister said, I can't help but wonder."

"You know better than to listen to Kimmie," I say.

"That's true," he says.

We reach the edge of our property. The only way further is to go through the woods, which I've never been allowed to do. I look past Matthew and through them, though, and have the sudden urge to run into the trees and not look back. Just to see. I'd return eventually, but right now, I would do just about anything to get away from this situation.

"Everyone says we'll be married one day," he says, seemingly out of the blue. He meets my eyes when he says it, and my stomach drops in a very bad way.

I nod. It's not a lie, it's very much the truth. People do say that, or they have in the past. I don't remember the last time I heard it aloud, but it's definitely been indoctrinated into my brain.

"Yes, they do," I say.

"So, one day you'll be Mrs. Matthew Taylor," he says. "Have you thought much on that?"

I set my chin firmly and look at him firmer. "No," I state simply.

If he experiences a reaction, he doesn't show it. "Perhaps you should start," he says. "We're of age, and there's no reason it shouldn't happen soon."

"There's plenty of reason," I say.

"Like the boy?" he says. This is the most alive I've ever seen him. It's strange and a bit scary.

"No," I say, unwilling to budge on the subject.

Matthew takes a step closer. "Then kiss me," he says. "Kiss me, because one day you'll be my wife."

He leans close, and I turn my head so he brushes my cheek at best. He stumbles, misses his mark, and I extend an arm to keep him at bay.

"No, thank you," I say. "I'm not… I'm not ready for something like that."

He gives me a wounded, solemn look. One that should evoke pity from me, maybe even guilt, but does nothing of the sort.

"We should go back," I mutter, and lead the way without checking to see if he follows.

When we get to the house, everyone is on the front porch except for Jackson. My best guess is he's back at the shed, but I don't have the privilege of being able to think about him at the moment.

"That was a quick walk," Deb says.

"Did you two get some quality time _alone_?" Libby taunts.

I don't answer. I stand there with my shoulders hunched to my ears, and Matthew gravitates towards the truck.

"I have business to attend to back home," he says. "Mother, should we get going?"

"Is everything okay?" she asks.

"Fine," he snaps, and I take a few steps towards Alice, who embraces me. She can always sense when something isn't right.

"It was nice to catch up with you both," Mom says, ever the gracious host. "April, won't you say goodbye?"

"Goodbye, Matthew," I say, staring at my shoes.

"Goodbye, April," he says, and turns his back on me.

Once the truck has pulled down the road, I pry Alice's arms off and excuse myself. Luckily, they're caught up in their own conversations and don't notice when I leave or when I break into a run on the way to the shed.

I smell smoke before I get there and follow the scent. I go around the back and see Jackson standing there, one foot against the side of the little house, smoking a cigarette and blowing smoke high into the air.

"Oh," he says, noticing me. He blows a big smoke ring and puckers his lips. Without thinking, I stomp over, snatch the cigarette from his hand, and smash it with the toe of my boot.

"You're killing yourself," I growl, tears pricking the backs of my eyes.

"Jesus Christ," he says.

"You can't do that anymore," I say, fists clenched.

"Stop taking your anger at your arranged marriage out on my fuckin' cig," he says. "That was my last one."

"Good," I say, tears streaming.

"Kitty," he says, surrendering. "Hey, I'm sorry. Don't cry. What happened? Come here."

He extends his arms for a hug, but I turn away. "You smell like smoke," I say, half-sobbing.

"Duckie! Time for bible study!"

I hiccup and shoot him one last look. "I have to go," I say.

"Kitty," he calls, but I don't turn around. I need to be alone.

…

After bible study and supper, I'm alone in my room with pajamas on. I'm sitting near the window, watching the lights in the shed and doing my best to resist going out there. I should try and be better. God would want me to be better and stop lying. He would want me to try for Matthew, at least. Have I even tried?

I can't withstand the urges, though. I have to see Jackson.

I wait a couple hours until the sounds in the house stop. Until my mother shuts the master bedroom door, until the pages stop flipping in Alice's room, and the air is deathly still. Only then do I creep out of my bedroom and down to the mudroom, where I slip into my barn boots and go outside without a coat.

I knock on the door this time, afraid he might be upset with me from earlier. I don't know what I was doing, trying to seek solace in him for something he was upset over, too. I shouldn't have done that. I should learn to deal with things on my own.

"Jackson," I say.

"You don't have to knock."

When I push open the door, he's already standing near it with shoes on. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"I wanna take you somewhere," he says, extending a hand. "Will you come with me?"

I shake my head. "I can't leave," I say.

"We aren't," he says. "Do you trust me?"

After a long while, I answer his question by taking his hand and letting him lead me. We walk past the barn and the pasture, and I notice we're on the way to the woods when he speaks up.

"I'm sorry for being an ass earlier," he says. "I was pissed. Not at you, but I lashed out. It was fucked, and I'm stupid. I'm gonna try to… be better at that."

I nod to myself. "I shouldn't have bothered you," I say.

"You don't ever bother me," he says. "So, don't say that."

I smile softly and pick my head up, noticing how close we are to the treeline. "Are we going in there?" I ask, referencing the woods.

He nods.

"We can't," I say.

"Don't be a puss," he says. "I know where I'm going. I was there earlier today."

I keep my eyes on him for a long moment, then take a leap of faith and let him guide me in. The air is cooler, heavier and damp, but the feeling of being surrounded by trees is soothing. I never realized how quiet it is in here, yet full of life. It's a whole different world.

"Being with him today was awful," I say, after we've been walking for a few minutes. "He tried to kiss me."

"He what?" Jackson snaps.

"I turned him down," I say. "He got angry with me."

"Fuck him," Jackson says. "Seriously, he's a piece of shit and I hope he knows it."

"He was talking about how we'll be married," I say, then bite my lower lip. "I'm afraid of that."

"Afraid of having to marry that shithead?" he asks, and I nod. "That won't happen."

"You don't know the way things work around here," I say. "It will happen. When it comes down to it, I don't have a choice."

He looks at me, eyes set and determined while he says, "There's always a choice."

I don't have a response, because I'm too entranced by him and everything he is. I've never met someone else like Jackson Avery, and I'm certain in my small little life that I never will again.

"Here it is," he says, a few moments later.

I look forward and see we've come across a small pond. The water is dark because it's the middle of the night, but the moonlight casts an ethereal glow that makes it seem nothing short of magical.

"Isn't it cool?" he asks.

I nod. "It's beautiful," I say.

He drops my hand and quickly strips off his shirt, tossing it to the side to go for his pants. "I was hoping you'd swim with me," he says, stepping forward in his underwear, which soon come off, too, and I'm left staring at his naked butt.

I dart my eyes away quickly, but hear him laugh over his shoulder.

"Only suit I have is my birthday suit," he says, then wades in. I can't look up, but I hear the water move as he goes deeper. "The water's just fine, kitty."

When I lift my head, I see he's gone in just below his chest. He's wearing a warm, playful smile, and my stomach is jumping with excitement. He's seen everything of mine already, and I've never gone swimming before. I'm tempted, but so scared.

"I'm right here," he says, reading my mind. "It's fun, I promise."

"Are there fish?" I ask, taking baby steps closer to the water.

"Only one really big one," he says, then slaps his chest. "And you're lookin' at him."

I snort and cover my mouth, then take a deep breath. In one swift motion, my shirt comes off and I don't waste any time with my pants and underwear, either. Before long, I'm naked and tiptoeing into the water, which isn't as cold as I expected.

"Easy now, easy," Jackson says, eyes all over me.

He reaches his arms out when I'm in up to my thighs, then captures my waist to bring me deeper. I smile with surprise, loving the way the water feels all around my body, but loving the way his hands feel even more.

"This is amazing," I say, looking up at the sky where the moon acts as our spotlight. I'm beaming when I meet his eyes again, and he hasn't taken his off me.

"I thought you'd like it," he says, then kisses me.

I wind my arms around his neck and press my chest flush to his, and he rests his hands on the small of my back. We stand in the water and kiss for a while, opening our mouths and exploring each other while the crickets and owls sound from every direction. I've never felt so complete, so wholly alone with the one person who makes me feel alive.

"I can't believe you did this for me," I say, eyes shining.

He nods, gaze traveling between my mouth and my eyes. "I'd do a lot more for you," he says, tucking hair behind my ear.

I rest my head on his chest, and he drags his fingernails up and down my back slowly. His heartbeat pounds beneath my ear, and I close my eyes to solidify the moment. I'm sure nothing like this will happen to me again, and I want to take it all in.

"You know earlier," he says. "When you called me your boy."

I nod, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Well, I just… I wanted you to know that uh, you're my girl. Not Matthew's, alright? No matter what he makes it seem like. And above everything, you belong to yourself. I don't know if anyone's ever told you that, but you're your own boss. You can own your shit. No one can tell you what to do, or how to act. There's a real world out there where you don't have to listen to anyone but yourself. It exists, and someday… I wanna show you."

I don't know if he means what he says. To him, this is a secluded vacation. Farm life isn't permanent. But for me, it's much more. It's my entire being - all I've ever known. Leaving seems as impossible as breathing under this crystal-clear water.

He's probably just talking. Right now, he might even mean it, but I know better than to put stock in something like that. I would never hold him to it. He has bigger and better things to worry about once he leaves.

So, instead of a verbal response, I kiss him. Slow and soft, wet and languid, I suck on his lips and massage his tongue with my own, and those actions give his hands permission to sneak lower and grip my butt tight.

We make out, as he called it, in the water for a while before returning to the shore and our clothes. We don't leave though, not yet. We lie there on the moss and stare at the stars, which he mentions once again are so much more plentiful than anything he's ever known.

I turn to look at his face, then gravitate to his side. He pulls me close and kisses my forehead, and I trace the tattoo I'd wondered about a while ago - the one he'd been sensitive about.

"Tell me about this," I whisper, continuously running my finger over it.

He's quiet for a long time. So long, I think he might be ignoring me, and I tell myself I should've just let it go. I shouldn't keep picking at things.

But he surprises me with an answer.

"Chicago's huge on gangs," he says. "They pretend they're not, but they are. And when you run in certain circles, I don't know. It starts to seem like a cool thing to do. They entice you. Your best friend's older brother, your big cousin, the dude from down the block… they're all in one. They're still cool, they still got their families. And even better, they got a whole crew to make sure nothing ever happens to them. On the surface, that seemed great. I mean, people didn't mess with me or anything, but I wanted it to stay that way. I figured if I didn't join a gang, shit would start. So, I did. I joined."

He pauses, hugs me tighter, almost like a security blanket. I stop touching the tattoo and place my palm on his bare stomach instead - he's wearing pants, but no shirt.

"At first, it was badass. Just like I thought. There were girls, booze, drugs… I only fucked with weed, though, no hard shit. The guys seemed cool, they hooked me up with a lot of stuff I'd never had before. That I never knew I could have. They started that tattoo with some homemade tools, and I thought I was the shit." He shakes his head. "Far from it. After a while, they started asking me to do stuff. Steal shit, got bigger and bigger. Lie to my mom, skip school; it was building, and I didn't even see it."

He takes a deep breath and blinks at the sky slowly. I don't say a word. I don't want him to stop.

"They wanted me to rob this old dude's house," he says. "Said he had a bunch of money hidden in the basement, and that after I got it, I had to shoot him. Kill him, because he was on the way out anyway, and we couldn't afford witnesses. I was out after that, that's why the tattoo's half-done… I flat-out said no. That's why we had to move. I haven't lived in Wicker Park since I was 10, that was a lie and I'm sorry. We moved from the south side just recently, because they're out for my fuckin' head. You can't just leave a gang like that. When my mom found out… I can barely remember, but she fuckin' hated me for being so stupid. For joining at all. Then, it was fucked up that what I did made us move. Getting out of there was the only option for me this summer. I had no choice. It was come here, or get shot. Basically."

He sighs, letting out a long, clean breath. Like this information is being cleansed from him, aired out and hung dry.

"I just couldn't do it," he says. "There was no reason. I saw how pointless it was. Those guys weren't my friends. It was all fake." He makes a small sound, almost like a chuckle. "Honestly, the only real thing I've ever known in my life is you."

I'm overwhelmed with this information - everything about it. He wouldn't be telling me all this if he wasn't serious about me; I know that much about his personality. And judging by that, maybe it's okay to give more of myself to him. See a future, imagine the possibilities. I shouldn't doubt him around every corner, or assume things I have no way of knowing. He is more complex than anyone else I've ever known.

"Kitty," he says, and I lift my eyes to look into his. "I've never fallen for someone like this before."

My heart stops, and my breath does too. Tears well in my eyes due to pure emotion coursing through me, and it takes a moment to return to my body.

I smirk a little, though, and kiss his shoulder while still looking in his eyes. When I pull away, I say, "I've never fallen for someone at all. Not before you."


	7. Chapter 7

_sorry for my lag, guys! as some of you know, i was going through a hard time with my family for the past couple of weeks. thank you all for being patient and understanding. that said, please enjoy the new chapter and don't forget to review._

…

 **JACKSON**

Hearing April say those words, whatever shield I had left falls away and disappears. With shining eyes and her lips pressed to my shoulder, I hold the back of her head and kiss her hairline.

I've never been in love before. I've had a handful of girlfriends, plenty of casual flings, but nothing that ever qualified as serious. April is technically my girlfriend, I asked her earlier today, but the word suddenly goes deeper than it ever has. I wish there were a better term than 'girlfriend' to describe what she is to me, even after this short time.

"Have you ever had a crush?" I ask, thumbing tendrils of hair away from her face.

She blinks, batting those crazy long eyelashes against my skin. "What's that?" she whispers.

I can't handle her. How innocent she is without knowing it. Without even trying.

"When you like someone as more than a friend," I say. "Have you ever… felt something for someone else?"

She chews on her bottom lip and shakes her head. "No," she says, voice still low. "I've never looked twice at a boy until I saw you." She reaches up and holds my face, her hands soft and featherlight. "Now, I can't stop looking at you."

I smile widely and roll towards her, pulling her body closer. I can't get enough of her cute little pajamas - a matching button-up pink set with stripes. The fabric sticks to her body in places where her skin is still wet, and I do my best to get a hand under the silk on her back.

"The feeling's mutual," I say.

She tilts her head and we kiss - slow and drawn-out - lips parted, breath mixing. She threads a leg through mine and I inevitably get hard, one hand slipping down to squeeze her ass and force her hips against mine.

"I feel your penis," she whispers, and I bust up laughing against her mouth.

I know she means it as a simple statement, but she's so pure that it comes off hilarious. It's just not something people say, but she would have no idea about that.

"Why're you laughing?" she says. "Are you laughing at me? Did I say something wrong?"

"No," I say, stroking her hair. "No, kitty. You're just so cute."

She smirks, but tries to hide it while touching the tip of her nose to mine. "Is it because I talked about your penis?" she whispers.

I snort. "Yes. No one really comes out and just… I don't know. Says that."

"Well, I do feel it," she says.

"Is it bothering you?" I ask.

She shakes her head, eyes glinting in the moonlight. One hand slinks away from my waist and moves lower, near my groin.

"Can I see what it feels like?" she asks. "Touch… can I touch it?"

I raise my eyebrows slightly, then open my mouth to respond. Before I can, though, she pipes up again.

"Over the pants, just-just… just over your pants," she stammers.

"Sure, babe," I say, then take her wrist gently. "If you want."

She nods, eyes big and round.

"Okay," I say. "I'll show you."

As I move her hand towards my growing erection, she tenses up and goes rigid. Her eyebrows crease and she gasps softly, and I pull back with consideration to her reaction.

"You okay?" I ask. "You know, you don't have to."

"I want to," she says, then juts her hand back out. "Show me."

I grin and say, "Okay."

I guide her hand below my waist and cover it with mine to cup the bulge in my pants. Her fingers tighten as she breathes shallowly, and when her eyes meet mine her pupils are huge.

"Do you…" she murmurs, then swallows. "In comparison to other boys, is it… is it big?"

I know better than to be offended - she has nothing to compare it to. Still, it's an uncomfortable question given that I don't want to seem like a pompous asshole. Usually, girls realize its impressive size on their own. They love to comment on it. I've never had to verbally tell them how big it is.

But April is different. April is learning everything for the first time - through me. I can't let myself forget that.

I nod subtly. Her hand doesn't move.

"Yeah," I say. "Uh, not to sound like a cockwad, but… yeah. It's bigger than average."

"Oh," she says, then looks down before meeting my eyes again. "Uh… it's growing now?"

"You're touching it, and you're fuckin' sexy," I say. "So, yeah. It's getting bigger 'cause being around you turns me on."

She blushes, that hot pink blush I love. When I touch her cheek and find how warm it is, I can't help but linger.

My dick twitches in her palm and her hand jolts because of it, but she doesn't move away. If anything, she presses further and digs the pads of her fingers in all while her eyes are plastered on my face. I thread my fingers through her hair and kiss her with all my might, angling my head as our lips crush together.

She shivers as I pull away, the hand that was on my dick now sneaking up to rest on my bare chest.

"You cold?" I ask.

She nods.

"Alright, let's go."

We make it back to the cabin, but I'm not ready for her to leave yet. I don't think she wants to go, either, because she lingers by the doorway with her hands clasped, an expectant expression on her face.

"Wanna come in for a sec?" I ask.

Thankfully, she accepts. I start a fire so the place warms up a bit, and she hops on my bed and makes herself comfortable.

"Bed hog," I grumble jokingly under my breath, and she giggles.

I haven't felt safe in months, but with her it's different. It's not that I think she could physically protect me - nothing like that. She makes me feel like I'm home, like I'm secure, like I don't have to worry about anything except what's in front of me. For the first time, I know what it feels like to put someone else before myself. Just looking at her over my shoulder as she sits curled up on my mattress, I know I'd do anything to keep her safe. And that feeling alone is one I hold close to my heart. I don't plan on letting it go.

"You're the bed hog," she says.

"Whatever," I say.

"You are."

I set the poker down and stand to my full height, stomping over to the bed while pretending to be mad. She shrieks loudly, giggling as she does, and scrambles towards the wall while I cover her body and attack her with kisses and tickling fingers.

"Jackson, stop!" she laughs, weakly fighting me off. "Jackson, I can't breathe! Stop, stop, stop!"

Her face, smiling uncontrollably and tucked to her chest, is bright red. I dig my fingers into her armpits and below her ribs, going at her with no reprieve.

"Say it," I taunt. "Say you're the bed hog, and I'll stop."

"No way!" she shrills, falling onto her back so I hover over her. I tickle her thighs but hold her legs down as she kicks - she's no match even while writhing and thrashing underneath me.

"Then I guess I'm gonna tickle you all night," I say, moving to her feet.

She screams - actually screams - and can barely catch her breath. Gasping, she says, "Fine, fine! I'm the bed hog. It's me, I'm the bed hog!"

I stop and she collapses, spent. She holds her chest and lets out a long stream of air, then glares at me with a lighthearted look in her eye.

"You're awful," she tells me.

"And you're," I say, bending to tuck my face in her neck and kiss her. "Ticklish."

I lie down and pull her against me, not allowing any space between us.

"I don't see how I'm a bed hog when you barely give me any room," she whispers. "You hold me so close, you're basically all the bed I get."

"Just the way I like it," I say, kissing her cheek.

She beams and leans into me.

"Plus, you like it, too," I say. "Don't lie."

"I do like you," she says, cold fingers on either side of my neck. We look at each other for a moment and her eyelids grow heavy, body softening in my arms. "I'm sleepy," she says. "But I don't wanna leave."

"So, don't," I say, weaving my fingers through her hair. "Stay here. Sleep with me."

"I can't," she says. "You know better."

I grin softly. "Yeah, I know."

"A little while?" she says. "Wake me up in just a little while, and I'll go inside?"

"Okay," I say, then kiss the space between her eyebrows. "Close your eyes, kitty. I'll be here."

I've never known someone to fall asleep as fast as she does. As soon as she closes her eyes, her breathing deepens and her side rises and falls slower. I trail one finger from her temple down her cheek, over the slope of her neck and round of her shoulder, then over the bumps of her ribs. I find a place to rest on the soft dip before her hip bone, then stroke her skin where her shirt has ridden up.

As she sleeps, I ghost my lips across her hairline and whisper something so, so softly to her.

"I love you."

I say it so she won't hear. I'm not ready for her to hear, because I don't know how she'll respond. I've never said it to someone before - I can't even remember the last time I said it to my mom. I can't help it, though. Even though it's so soon, I do love her. I don't need more time to figure it out. She makes me feel safe, seen, and special. There's not a single other person in the world like her.

April stirs and pushes her forehead against my neck, shoving her body closer. I laugh to myself as she was the one who called me needy for closeness, while she doesn't even know what she's like while she's asleep. She tightens an arm around my waist and her breath hits my neck with every exhale, and I trail my fingers down her spine to keep her asleep for a little while longer.

When I feel myself getting drowsy, I know I have to wake her up - as badly as I don't want to. I kiss her temple, what I can reach, and rub her hip.

"Wake up, kitty-kitty," I say, kissing her forehead a couple times.

"Hmm," she hums, nestling closer.

"You have to," I say. "You gotta go, baby girl."

She opens her eyes, those pretty mossy eyes, and yawns. I stroke her face and she takes a moment to sit up, stretching her arms above her head once her spine is straight.

"I'll see you in the morning," she says, and leans over to give me a clumsy, sleepy kiss. When she pulls away, she slips into her shoes and out the door, then I watch her disappear into the farmhouse and out of sight.

…

The next day is unbearably hot. April, her sisters and I sweat all through chores and during dinner; even the sun setting doesn't make it any better. I'm lying in the shed shirtless when I decide I can't take it anymore - I know April will come out later, so I leave her a note that says: _meet me at the pond_.

I make my way there on my own and find it easily, stripping my boxers once I get to the shore without wasting any time jumping in. The cool water feels amazing in comparison to the sticky air, and I spend a good amount of time submerged under it to quiet my thoughts and simmer down.

It takes a huge amount of self control not to touch April all day while we're around her family. Not to sling an arm around her shoulders as we walk side by side, wrap an arm around the back of her chair at dinner, or playfully smack her ass when she's bent over doing chores. I just want to be normal with her, have a normal, playful relationship, but we can only be that way behind closed doors. It fucking sucks.

I come up from under the water and shake out my growing hair, then hear her voice.

"There you are!" she says, and I notice this time she has a towel in her arms and her hair is down. I smile at the sight of her.

"You made it," I respond.

"I got scared for a second when the shed was empty," she says, setting the towel down. Then she looks up, a fleeting look in her eyes. "Are you… are you naked?"

"As the day I was born," I say. "Comin' in?"

She smirks and ducks her head. I know I should turn away to give her some privacy as she undresses, but that's just not possible. I'm obsessed with her body, and I need to drink it in in any way I can.

She's only wearing a thin summer nightgown this time instead of the pants and shirt set. When it glides over her head, she's not wearing a bra - only a pair of modest white underwear. With her shoulders curved in towards each other, she shimmies out of the underwear and folds them neatly before walking towards the water with her hands covering her groin.

I meet her in the middle, saying, "You don't need to hide, you know."

She tucks her hair behind her ears, made decent by the water now. "I know," she says. "I just… I'm not used to someone seeing me."

I take her waist, hands slipping lower to grab her ass. It's currently my favorite place to put my hands - it's the perfect size and shape to hold onto.

"It's okay," I say quietly, turning my head to press my lips to her ear. "But you gotta know that I love your body. It's beautiful." She looks up at me, and I don't resist the urge to kiss her forehead, saying, "You're beautiful."

She shakes her head and lets her hair fall in front of her face, but I move it away. She won't look at me now, her demeanor has changed in a split second.

"What is it?" I ask.

She shakes her head again, pressing two flat hands on my chest to create distance between us. "Just…" she begins, sighing. "I don't know why you'd say that. I'm really not all that pretty."

"You are," I say, moving her wrists away so we're chest-to-chest again.

I hold her chin and kiss her slowly, letting out a deep exhale as I do. She tastes like toothpaste and hope. When we pull away and lock eyes, it's the perfect moment to say what's on the tip of my tongue, but I push it back. I don't know if she's ready. I don't want to say it, put those words out in the open, to be met with a deer in the headlights expression. The last thing I want is to scare her off - she's not used to all these feelings. Fuck, neither am I.

"If you say so," she says, smiling softly.

"I do say so," I say, threading my fingers through her hair.

We swim for a while until the balmy night boils down to a simple warmth. When we stop sweating, we get out of the water and lie on the shore in the way we did last night, except this time we don't redress.

I try not to stare. I know that if I do, it'll prompt her to put clothes on to cover up, and that's the last thing I want from her. She's amazing in her naked glory - her small, pert breasts, her little belly, her strong, lean thighs and the tempting place between them. I take her in in small doses, a quick flit of my eyes every now and then so she won't notice.

But April, on the other hand, doesn't try and be subtle about staring at me. I don't call her out on it, though, because mine is the first male body she's ever seen. I'm entranced because I've never seen a body like hers before, no less belonging to such a captivating person. But she's staring because she had no idea about anatomy before she met me, so I let her ogle all she wants.

"How was bible study?" I ask, breaking the silence a few moments later.

Her eyes, where they'd been trained on my crotch, shoot up to my face like she's been caught. "Fine," she says. "Good."

"What'd you learn?"

She frowns a bit. "Nothing new," she says.

"Hmm."

Her fingers fidget and her gaze can't find a place to land. I think, by reading her signals, that she wants to touch me and be touched in return.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask, testing the waters.

Her tension lessens and she seems relieved when she says, "Please."

With both of us still completely naked, I roll her onto her back and hover over her. I try my best not to let my half-hard boner touch her, but it's not that easy with its size. It basically has a mind of its own.

Her body responds to my every move. She arches towards me so I can wrap my arms around her lower back, and she pushes her tongue into my mouth as soon as I part my lips and welcome her inside. We lose ourselves as we kiss each other senseless, turning our lips red and swollen in the most delicious way.

My stubble scratches her chest as I move lower to her breasts, taking one nipple in my mouth and sucking hard. She whimpers and clings to me with her thighs, hips jolting up to meet my body in a way that lets me know she's turned on and wants something to come of this. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the same thing.

She explores my body with her hands and I let her, wondering what move she'll make next. She surprises me when she reaches low and skims a palm over my ass, then brings it around to rest on my thigh. With a short gasp, she pulls away from my lips and skittishly looks down at my full-blown erection.

"I want to…" she murmurs, losing confidence.

"Hmm?"

She clears her throat, grounding herself. "You've made me feel good so many times. I want… will you… I've been reading about how to… will you show me how to do it for you?"

"Oh," I say. "You wanna get me off?"

She gives me a strange, confused look.

"Like how I do for you," I say. "Make you come. You wanna… you'd wanna do that for me?"

"I want to, yes," she says, setting her shoulders straight.

I try not to seem shocked, but I am. Of course I've thought about the concept of April getting me off a hundred times, but I didn't think she'd be ready this soon. I don't plan on refuting it or messing it up, though.

I sit up halfway, propped by an elbow, and use the other hand to lead hers. "You wanna touch it?" I ask.

She nods and licks her lower lip, concentrated and focused. She's adorable, wanting to do this right, putting forth so much effort towards learning how.

"I've read about it," she says, quietly.

"The real thing is probably a more reliable source," I say, eyes glinting. She catches my gaze and looks bashfully away, but I keep my eyes trained where they are. "Go ahead. Hold it in your fist. Not too tight, but not too gentle, either."

Cautiously, she extends an arm and wraps her trembling fingers around the shaft of my dick. She blinks rapidly, staring at the place where we touch, and gets used the way it feels to hold it.

The muscles in my groin go rigid as I become overwhelmed with the way she's touching me. She isn't even moving yet, but whatever blood wasn't there before is rushing between my legs now, and I have no hope in lasting all that long. Thank god she doesn't have anything to compare it to, because I'd make a fool out of myself with how fast I'm going to blow my load.

"Stroke it," I say, voice tense as pre-come leaks from the tip. She notices, but doesn't say anything. I wonder if she's weirded out. "That's like… that stuff comes out when I'm gonna get off soon. I don't know, it helps. I'm not… fuck, I'm not really sure."

"It's okay," she whispers.

"Move your hand up and down," I say, nodding her along after a small pause. Even after my words, though, she doesn't move. She's frozen. "You okay?" I ask.

"I don't want to do it wrong," she says, situating her fingers where they're still circled around my pulsing dick.

"Oh," I say. "Do you want me to help you?"

She looks at me wearing a mottled expression and nods. I sit up a bit further and curl my hand around hers, showing her by example how to get me off. It's a lot easier on a guy than a girl, so at least there's that.

We find a good pace together. I don't bother telling her the little things I like - not yet. I don't want to overwhelm her. When I'm almost there and feel everything tightening, I release her hand and let her push me over the edge on her own.

With a muffled grunt, I come all over my stomach, hips, and her hand. As I wind down, lying there panting and trying to be as silent as I can, she gingerly lifts her hand away and looks at what covers it.

"This…" she says, turning her hand this way and that in the low light. "Sperm? Is this sperm?"

I blink hard, trying to clear my head. It's hard, being that my dick is still twitching and I'm covered in my own jizz, but for her, I'll try.

"Uh, yeah," I grunt, letting out a long exhale.

"And if it went inside me, it would make a baby?" she asks, still staring.

My forehead creases, and I wish she'd wipe it on something and stop staring at it. It's making me feel a little self-conscious, which is a feeling I'm not used to. I don't like it.

"Yeah," I say. "I mean, it could. It doesn't always. But people use protection so that doesn't happen. I mean, if you're not trying." I sigh and reach for her. "Babe. Let me clean you up."

I use my discarded boxers and wipe the jizz off her hand and the front of my body. After we're free of it, I feel much better sitting there talking to her.

"What do you mean by protection?" she asks.

"When people have sex for fun and they don't wanna make a baby, a dude wears a condom," I say. "It's like a latex thing that goes over your dick. They're not bad. Or a girl can take birth control, too. A little pill that makes pretty much makes it impossible for you to get knocked up. Those can be expensive though, so condoms are more casual, or whatever."

She nods, taking it all in. "So, this stuff could go inside me, but not always make a baby," she says.

"Right," I say. "Yeah, it's not like if you swallow it, a kid will grow in your stomach or anything."

I laugh, but her expression transforms into one of deeper confusion. "Why would I swallow it?" she asks, concerned. "Why would it go in my mouth?"

Oh, fuck. She doesn't know about oral. Not that she shouldn't learn - but I hadn't meant to dig that pit right here, right now.

"Uh…" I say. She doesn't tear her eyes away from me - now, she's dying to know. "Well. Didn't they mention that at all in your book?"

She shakes her head, lips pressed tight together.

"Well, it's like… putting your mouth on another person's junk. Guys or girls. It can go both ways. It's… obviously different, you know, different methods for either one. But the same concept. Like, instead of your hands, you use your tongue. Teeth. Lips, too. Your mouth."

She stares at me like she's waiting for me to say something else, but I got nothing.

"Your mouth… on someone's penis?" she asks.

"Or vagina," I say, then clear my throat.

She visibly cringes and says, "Isn't that… gross?"

I shake my head and shrug. "No," I say. "It's not gross at all. I personally think it feels better than a handy or like, finger blasting or whatever. It's more personal, that's for sure."

"Does it taste bad?"

I raise my eyebrows and take a deep breath. We're really going there. "It really depends," I say. "If you keep clean and take care of yourself, no. It tastes fine."

"Does it taste good?"

"It can," I say, and meet her eyes heavily.

"Oh," she says.

The boner that she took care of earlier starts to come back to life, and I shift somewhat to hide it. I've imagined the way she tastes plenty of times, pictured myself with my head buried between her soft, creamy thighs.

Surprising even myself, I ask, "Do you want me to show you?"

She blushes a violent red, the color swimming down from the apples of her cheeks to span over the width of her chest. Even her nipples become more flushed, which only makes me harder.

"I…" she says softly. "Do you want to?"

I nod, pulling my lower lip into my mouth.

"Do you like it?" she asks.

"With you, I like anything," I say. "But only if you're ready."

She takes a sharp inhale that shows off the angle of her collarbones, then licks her lips. "I want to," she murmurs. "But I don't know how."

"You don't have to worry about that," I say. "All you have to do is lay back and let me do the work."

"What about you?" she asks.

"Don't worry about that tonight," I say, crawling over and gently pushing on her shoulders so she lies flat. "Right now, this is about you."

"Okay," she whispers.

Once she's on her back, I hold myself up with a hand on either side of her head and kiss her slowly. I open my mouth wide and she does the same, winding her arms around the back of my neck to rest there. When I pull away, she starts to giggle and I have no idea why.

"What?" I ask, maybe a bit snappily.

"I just can't believe this is real," she says, turning her face to the side. "I'm naked under a boy. You're kissing me the way you're kissing me and… and I've never felt like this before."

I kiss her cheek, sound and sure. "You're so fuckin' cute," I say. "I love that about you."

"I love a lot of things about you," she whispers dreamily, cupping my face before craning to kiss me again.

I smile to myself and kiss a path down her throat, licking a wide trail once I get to her chest. I squeeze her breasts lightly before moving lower to the soft pocket of skin in the center of her ribcage, and when I lick a circle around her bellybutton, her breath stops. The peach fuzz under my tongue stands up, and I nuzzle my nose through it.

"Mmm… Jackson," she sighs, hips writhing beneath me.

"Yeah?"

She reaches to weave her fingers through my hair, meeting my eyes for a long, drawn-out moment. "Nothing," she says, smiling softly. "Just saying your name."

"Okay, baby," I say, kissing below her bellybutton where it slopes downward. "I'm about to make you feel so good."

"I'm ready," she whispers, allowing me to widen her thighs as she solidifies her grip in my hair.

When my tongue touches her for the first time, we both feel the effects. Her body jolts with surprise and all the blood rushes to my groin because of how good she tastes - how innately sweet and hot, rich and practically holy when I put my mouth on her.

I know what I'm doing in eating a girl out. I know how to make it quick, but I don't do that this time. I won't tease her, but she deserves a quality build-up, and that's what I plan on giving her.

I massage her thighs while keeping them apart, running my tongue along her slit before slipping inside just slightly. She whimpers, caught off-guard, and bends her knees so her feet are flat on the ground at my sides. I bend my neck so there's no space between my face and her heat - I don't want any. If I suffocate right here, it'd be the best way I could think of to go out.

I don't bother keeping the sounds at a reasonable level, and she doesn't, either. She's wet as hell, so that combined with my saliva makes for a loud and messy act. And she's moaning and whining above me, arching her back and keening like crazy, almost like she's trying to crawl out of her own body because of the sensation.

I use my thumbs to run over her outer lips, then glide two fingers swiftly inside her as deep as they'll go. She twitches, muscles tensing, before I slowly drag them out and repeat the motion again and again. Her thighs fall apart bonelessly, and I keep my lips on the skin below her bellybutton while my fingers curl to find her g-spot. It takes a moment to find - I don't have her body memorized yet - but the sound she makes lets me know when I do.

She cries out and I move my face lower again, kissing between her legs while my fingers continue to work. I lick her inner thighs and suck on the skin, which makes her whimper with pleasure and tremble beneath me, breaking into a light sweat. I lick the soft skin on either of her legs before moving back between them and positioning my mouth above my hand and dipping my tongue inside.

I find her clit and circle it with the tip of my tongue, still stroking her. I use my free hand to reach up and grab her breast tight, thumbing the nipple to an even harder peak while I pull her clit into my mouth. I suck on it slowly, matching the rhythm of my hand, and relish the way her voice cracks as her orgasm begins.

"Oh… my… god," she moans, working her hips against my face in a way that seems totally involuntary. I don't stop, though, I let those hips slam against my face and try not to get knocked backward. "Oh, my… god!"

"You're doing so good, baby girl… does that feel good?" I say, lips moving against her dripping heat.

"So… so, good," she moans, entire body quivering as her muscles ride out the feeling. "Jackson, oh… god!"

With one final exclamation, she goes limp. She throws her arms above her head and lets her legs fall out, all the while looking at me with her chin to her chest, eyes clouded and dreamy. She blinks slowly, saying nothing, and I kiss the inside of her knee all the way up to where I'd left subtle hickeys a few moments ago.

"Jackson," she breathes, and I look at her through my eyelashes. I study the sheen of sweat across her breasts, the points of her nipples, the way her ribcage shows through her skin, and the trail of soft hair on her belly that stands out in the moonlight.

"Yeah, kitty," I say, turning her leg so I can kiss the top of her thigh.

"Come here."

When I crawl up her body, she wraps her limbs around me and kisses me forcefully, winding her arms around my neck to keep me close. We don't pull away for a long time, and even when we do, we don't move far. I press my nose to hers and look into her shining eyes, completely overwhelmed by everything I'm feeling. There would be no better time than right now to tell her, to say it out loud, but I can't. I open my mouth with the intent of telling her I love her, only to have silence fill the space instead.

And anyway, she speaks before I can.

"That was amazing," she whispers, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against mine. "You are amazing."

I shut my eyes for a moment as I trail my fingers down her back, ghosting over shoulder blades and the dip of her spine. "So are you," I say.

I move a hand up to her neck and rest my palm on the side of it, stroking her cheek with my thumb. We kiss again, languid and sloppy, and April is winding one leg around my hips when we hear a small voice in the distance.

"April… April?"

She pulls away instantly, her eyes wide and afraid. "It's Alice," she says, scrambling for her clothes. She finds her underwear and hurriedly puts them on, then slips the nightgown over her head. With a quick twist of her hands, her hair is in a braid and she's working on shoving her feet back into her lace-up boots.

"Shit," I say, rushing to redress as well. "What is she doing?"

"I don't know," April says, then glances back at me once she's decent. "I have to go. You… you stay. She shouldn't see us together."

Halfway to a standing position, I sit back down with my eyes trained on her. For some reason, my heart sinks and I feel a bit hurt though I don't know why. I shouldn't feel that way, I have no right to. If Alice put two and two together about me and April, we'd be done for. I'm just tired of hiding.

"Right," I say.

"April…?"

She lets out an exasperated breath and bends at the waist to give me a quick, chaste kiss. "I'll see you in the morning," she says. "Thank you for… for showing me… for…"

"Sissy, where are you?"

She sighs again.

"It's fine," I say, then wave her on. "Go. Go. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Okay," she says, then hugs her arms close to her chest. "You're not upset, are you?"

"I'm fine, kitty," I say, trying to mask my frustration with her little sister. I wasn't done with April tonight - I wanted to spend more time with her. Her life on this fucking farm keeps getting in the way.

"Okay," she says. "Goodnight."

She runs off towards the edge of the woods, soon disappearing in the darkness, and I'm left there at the edge of the pond with only the memory of what we did.

…

The next morning, I'm not woken by April. Instead, I wake up to the sound of a familiar voice - familiar, but far away. Maybe coming from the house.

I sit up and rub my eyes, confused above everything. Why am I hearing my mother right now?

I get dressed, find shoes, and step out into the blinding sunlight. It's later than usual. April let me sleep, or was too distracted with something else to come get me. I'm tempted to say the latter, because I wasn't hearing things. My mother is, in fact, standing on the porch with Karen Kepner, talking congenially while Karen stands with her arms crossed, April at her side.

April looks nervous and flighty. I can see it in her eyes all the way from here. I can't hear what my mother and Karen are talking about, but it seems to be a topic of contention. No one on that porch is comfortable except for my mom, which doesn't come as a surprise. She tends to control the room.

I put my hands in my pockets and make my way towards them slowly, gauging the situation. April catches my eye first, but doesn't move. I'm aware she can't, really.

"...big of you to comply, I don't think you'll regret it. It really isn't fair to keep her in such a bubble, you know, Karen. It's not doing her any favors."

"I didn't agree to any critiques on my parenting style," Karen says, tersely. "I agreed to a few days away. I'm finished hearing anything else, lest I change my mind."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," my mother says, then turns as she notices me. "Jackson, so nice of you to finally join us. I see the farm life hasn't turned you into an early riser yet."

I don't say anything. I'm way too confused. April stares at me like she's trying to send me a telepathic message, but I can't pick it up.

"I have wonderful news for you, son," my mother says. "I'm taking you and April to the lake house for a few days for a little getaway. I heard you've been doing well here, and you deserve a break. But even more than you, April deserves one, too."

I blink hard, trying to figure out if this is real. It can't be. I must be hallucinating.

I subtly pinch myself and find my surroundings don't change. I'm still standing here in front of three women who I never thought I'd see together.

"Did you hear me, son?" my mother asks. "We're taking April home."


	8. Chapter 8

**APRIL**

When I wake up, it's already light out. I lie in bed and realize it's too late to have a few extra moments with Jackson, so I might as well take my time getting up.

I sit on the edge of the bed with my spine curved forward, elbows on my knees, and think about everything that happened last night. At the beginning of the summer, I'd never before been touched by a boy. Barely even been hugged - only the stiff ones that came from Matthew now and again.

And now, some weeks later, I've been much more than touched. I can still picture Jackson's head between my thighs with his mouth wide open over a place I never knew could be tasted. I can still feel the buzzing in my body as my orgasm rippled through it, and the way he turned me to mush once it was over.

I want the day to hurry by so we can get back to the pond tonight. Maybe he can show me how to put my mouth on him, if that's something he'd want. I don't want to ask too much. It seems like he's always the one giving and I'm always receiving. I don't want our relationship to become imbalanced. I want it to be healthy.

I shake my head to try and sift the unsavory thoughts from behind my eyes. I hear my mother talking in the kitchen, presumably to one of my sisters, and I don't want her to read my mind. It feels like Jackson's fingerprints are plastered over every surface of my skin, lit up like neon signs. If she looks at me too long, it won't take much time at all for her to figure out what I'm hiding.

I've never hidden something from my mother before. My guess is that I wouldn't be very good at it if I tried - at least, not to her face. Lies of omission and skirting the truth are much easier.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a raggedy t-shirt, then head downstairs to get my boots. I stop walking once I get to the kitchen entryway though, because I realize that I don't hear one of my sister's voices joining my mother's. It's a voice I don't recognize, and when I peer around the corner I see Jackson's mother sitting at the dining room table while Mom busies herself at the sink.

Instantly, I know I shouldn't be standing here, but I can't seem to move.

"You're doing her a disservice by keeping her so sheltered, Karen," Catherine says.

It doesn't take me long to realize she's talking about me. I can tell by the way my mother's spine stiffens and her hands stop moving on a dish she's washing. I wonder why Jackson's mother is here so early, and I wonder if he knew she was coming. My best guess is that he didn't. He would've told me.

"If it continues, she'll rebel in a way you won't like later. Please, believe me on that. If you keep a child away from the world, all they'll want to do is seek it out. And without the proper tools, she'll get herself into a great deal of trouble that she won't know how to get out of. She could very well find herself in a bad situation."

"My April would never," Mom says, without turning around.

"She has so much potential," Catherine argues, unwavering. "She's special. You don't want to snuff out that flame, do you? You don't, really. She's very smart. I see it in her eyes. You don't want her to experience the world, meet new people, get to know different places?"

"She's not ready."

"Of course she isn't, not on her own," Catherine says. "I would never assume that. That's why I offered what I did."

There's a crackling, tense pause to follow. I hold the side of the wall as I watch the interaction, wondering how it will transpire, and shrink back when my mother speaks again.

"She's never been away," she says. "She won't know how to handle it. She won't want to go."

"Why don't we leave that up to her?"

"No," my mother says firmly. "She's not capable of making a decision like that."

"Why wouldn't you think so?" Catherine asks. "She's eighteen years old. Some young women her age are already living on their own, taking care of themselves."

"I know that," my mother snaps. "I'm perfectly aware, but that's not April. I made sure April wouldn't have to live like that."

"I know you did."

"So, I'll make the decision," Mom says, taking only a moment to breathe before continuing with, "She'll go. But only for tonight and tomorrow. You'll bring her back home on Sunday. I want her here in time for evening service. She shouldn't miss it."

"Of course."

"And she-"

Interrupting herself, my mother looks up and notices me eavesdropping. Her facial expression morphs from concentration to surprise to anger in a split second.

"April Olivia," she says, taking purposeful steps towards me. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," I say, backing up. I fold my hands behind my back and try to make myself as small and meek as I can. Nothing that would make it seem like I'm challenging her. "I just came down to-to get my boots to start my chores."

"No chores this morning," she barks, then points in the direction of which I came. "Back upstairs. Go. Now. And don't come out until I tell you."

"Yes, mom," I say, and turn my back - but not without casting a wayward glance at Jackson's mother, whose eyes were trained on me for the entire interaction.

I shut the door to my room quietly and stand just inside it, staring with knitted eyebrows out the window. Where am I being sent? Where am I going? I've never left this area of Michigan. I've never seen outside the city limits. My stomach drops with the thought of leaving my house and everything I know to go to some strange, foreign place.

I'm too nervous to sit, so I pace. I pace until there's a knock at my door, and when I open it, my mother stands there with a stern expression on her face.

"Pack a bag," she says.

"Mom," I say, a bit desperately. My eyes are wide, fingers bent to keep myself from reaching out to her. She won't take me, not right now. "Where am I going?"

She presses her lips together tightly and makes a brash sound in her throat. "To the Averys' house on Lake Michigan. Catherine invited you to stay for a weekend."

"Why?" I ask.

She gives me a cold look. "Did I teach you to question me?" she asks.

"No, mom."

"That's what I thought. Now, don't waste any more time. You're keeping her waiting. Pack a bag with clothes and necessities, and come downstairs when you've finished."

"Yes, mom."

"Don't be long."

She leaves the room and I'm left standing in her wake, stunned. Will it be Catherine and me, alone? I don't know how I feel about spending one-on-one time with her. I don't know her. I don't know how to be cordial for that long without turning awkward. I want Jackson to come, too, but I know better than to ask. I'll just have to wait and see.

I don't have much to pack, which makes me embarrassed. I'm wearing the only good pair of jeans I own, and the rest of the clothes inside my dresser are fit for the farm only. Judging by the way Catherine dresses and how I've seen people look at the store, I wouldn't very well fit in with the clothes I own. But I pack them anyway, being that I don't have another choice. I pack my loungewear, my long skirt and button-up blouse, and a few t-shirts. It's not much, but it's what I have to work with.

I sling the ratty backpack over my shoulder and go downstairs, where the front door is open and mine and Jackson's mother are standing on the porch.

I set the bag down and follow them. I zone out their conversation as I stand beside my mother and light up inside when I see Jackson sauntering up the walk, looking as confused as I still feel. I want to call out, or even better - run to him - but that's out of the question. All I can do is watch him and try to communicate with my eyes.

"Jackson, so nice of you to finally join us," Catherine says. It's a sarcastic statement, but there is warmth in her tone at the sight of her son. "I see the farm life hasn't turned you into an early riser yet."

 _He's only an early riser when I wake him_ , I think.

Jackson doesn't respond, he just frowns. I can't say a thing.

"I have wonderful news for you, son," his mother continues. "I'm taking you and April to the lake house for a few days for a little getaway. I heard you've been doing well here, and you deserve a break. But even more than you, April deserves one, too."

I blush at the mention of my name. I'm not used to being singled out so blatantly. It's a shock, and I can't meet her eyes when she looks at me.

"Did you hear me, son?" Catherine asks, given Jackson's lack of response. "We're taking April home."

Relief floods my body as I realize he's coming, too. But along with relief, comes excitement and nerves, too. I get to spend time with Jackson away from the farm, away from my family's rules and constraints. I'm not sure how to handle these feelings. On top of everything, I'm terrified.

"April, inside," my mother orders, and takes my upper arm to lead me as if I wouldn't follow. She shuts the front door and stands very close. I know better than to pull away. "I expect you to be on your best behavior," she says. "I'm trusting you to act like an upstanding young lady of God on this trip. If I hear otherwise, you'll be spending two weeks in your room when you come back. Am I understood?"

"Yes, mom."

"There will be no sharing bedrooms, no sharing bathrooms, and you will allot private time at night to spend praying. God will know if you abandon him during this trip away. I expect you to act as you always have, and remember that you have a husband waiting for you back home. Don't get any ideas in that head of yours."

 _Matthew isn't my husband yet_ , I think - vehemently and loud. _Nor will he ever be_.

I scold myself for thinking such an obstinate thought while my mother stands right in front of me. It seems like she can read my mind, because she takes my wrist and holds tight.

"God is always watching," she says. "No bathing suits. No swimming. No shorts, no tank tops. I want you to act just as you'd act here. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, mom."

"Good," she says, then releases my wrist. "Get your bag."

I pick up my meager backpack and open the front door, then hear footsteps hurrying behind me. I turn around as I'm halfway outside and see Alice hurtling towards us wearing a distraught expression.

"Sissy, where are you going?" she cries, clinging to my waist once she reaches me. She wraps her arms tight and buries her face in my chest, and I hold the back of her head. "Where are you going?"

"Just away for the weekend," I say.

"I wanna come," she says, fingers digging in. "Please, can I come?"

"Alice," Mom says, yanking her off. My youngest sister sputters and cries when we're separated, but she doesn't fight our mother's grip. She knows better.

"I'll be back Sunday, in time for church," I say, kneeling a bit to cup her face. She's been especially needy these past few days, but I push the annoyance away. I'm all she has. I hold her face and give her a firm kiss on the forehead, and she ghosts her fingers over my wrists when I pull away. "I love you."

"I love you," she whimpers, watching me with dripping eyes, Mom's arms draped over her shoulders.

"Ready?" Catherine asks. Jackson is already standing by the car - his face is a bit more placid. Catherine must have done some explaining.

"Yeah," I say, quietly. "Bye, mom. Bye, Allie."

Mom gives me a nod and Allie a sad wave. I turn around to face Catherine and she puts her hands on my backpack, but I self-consciously keep a good grip and shoot her a wary look.

"It… it's fine," I say. "I got it."

I don't want her to notice how empty it is, what little I had to pack, but she does anyway. Instead of shooting me a sorry expression, though, she whispers in my ear, "We'll have to do some shopping."

We meet eyes when she pulls away and she gives me a soft smirk before tossing my bag in the trunk.

"Thank you, Karen," she says, opening the driver's side door. "I'll have her back on Sunday."

Mom says nothing. She just looks on with a stony expression, arms tight around her youngest daughter - the one still in her clutches, literally and figuratively. I don't know how to feel about the fact that right now, I'm breaking out. Not for good, but for a little while.

As we back out of the driveway, I watch my house fade into the distance. I turn around and keep an eye on it through the back window, and Jackson touches my shoulder after it's completely out of sight.

"You okay?" he asks, quietly.

I sit back down and wonder if I truly am. I guess I don't know the answer. Part of me wants to ask Catherine to turn around and bring me back, but the other wants to close my eyes and forget the road out of here so I'll never be able to find my way home.

I nod and close my eyes, then feel the side of his pinky finger touch mine in the middle of our seats. I open my eyes to see he's watching me with a warm expression.

"I want you to know," Catherine pipes up, glancing in the rearview mirror. "You two can let out that breath you've been holding."

I look at Jackson with confusion, not sure what she means. He doesn't respond, either - we wait for her to finish.

"I know there's something going on," she says. "I figured there would be from the beginning."

My cheeks get hot and I look at my lap - at my wrinkly jeans, faded with wear and sun. Jackson's hand sneaks closer and he intertwines our fingers, now given the freedom to do so.

"You can be however you want," Catherine says. "You're free for a couple days."

I look up and meet her eyes, mine glistening, in the mirror. She gives me a reassuring little smile, with thoughts swimming behind her eyes that I can't come close to reading. There is a lot not being said, though.

"I just need to know that you're being safe," she says.

" _Mom_ ," Jackson says, gritting his teeth.

"I need to know these things," she says. "Do you need me to stop somewhere and get condoms? Just let me know."

"Mom, holy shit," Jackson says, shaking his head. "No… I- fuck. I have some. And we're not… we haven't… seriously. Stop."

"Fine, fine," she concedes, and I stay quiet while looking out the window at things I've never seen. Long stretches of highway, small businesses, gas stations. This is a part of town I've never been to.

Jackson keeps my hand, and I try to stop worrying. Catherine knows about us, and she supports our relationship. The paranoia is persistent, though, no matter how fervently I try and convince myself to relax.

"You… you won't tell my mother, will you, Ms. Avery?" I ask, voice trembling.

"Honey," she says. "I would never."

"Okay," I whisper, eyes downcast once again. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," she says, eyes back on the road. "If anything, I should be thanking _you_."

I don't ask why. I've been taught not to. And she doesn't offer an explanation - not yet.

…

We stop at a store called Target after we've been driving for a while. Compared to everyone in the parking lot and inside, I'm horribly underdressed and have never felt more out of place. My shoulders cave in as I try to make myself smaller; I'd make myself disappear if I could. I've never been so uncomfortable.

"Child, relax," Catherine says, guiding me with a hand in the middle of my shoulder blades. "We'll find you a nice new wardrobe."

"My mother will never let me," I say.

"After the weekend's over, I'll hold onto it," she says. "You don't need to worry. You let me do the fretting, okay? Take the weight off your shoulders for a little bit. I know your mother, and I know how to handle her. There's no reason to be afraid."

The look I give her says all that needs to be said: I have plenty of reasons.

"I wouldn't know where to start," I murmur, sticking close to Catherine's side.

"How about this," Jackson says, holding up a see-through shirt with thin straps.

I frown in his direction. "That won't cover a thing."

He wiggles his eyebrows and waves the shirt in my direction, but Catherine rolls her eyes and holds a flat palm in the air. "Don't pay attention to that fool," she says. "I'll show you some style."

By the time we leave, I'm the owner of three new pairs of shorts, five short-sleeved shirts, three tank tops, two dresses, pajamas, a skirt and a bathing suit. Jackson insisted I try on bikinis, but I wouldn't. Catherine bought me a pretty, patterned one-piece that ties around the back of my neck. I've never worn any type of bathing suit, so the concept is exciting in itself.

The last leg of the drive is long, and I fall asleep resting against Jackson's shoulder. He winds an arm around me to keep me close, and I feel safe enough to drift off, lulled by his closeness and the motion of the car.

When I open my eyes, we've come to a stop in front of a sizable house on the lakefront. I can't see much because it's so dark, but I can tell it's beautiful.

"We're here," Jackson says, rubbing my upper arm and planting a kiss on my hair. "Wake up, kitty."

Catherine shuts the car off and I slip out Jackson's side. I grab my backpack, he takes the Target bags, and we make our way inside.

"I had the housekeepers come last week and make sure everything was fit for us to stay," Catherine says. "Jackson's room should be all set for you both."

I stand in the entryway, clutching my bag with my shoes still on, fearful again. I know it's not plausible or possible, but it feels like somehow, my mother is watching me.

"We're… we'll both be in his room?" I ask, twisting the handle of my backpack.

"Oh, yes," Catherine says, looking over her shoulder as she's in the process of setting down her purse. "Is that alright? I just assumed. I should've thought it through. I'm sorry, dear. If you're uncomfortable, I'll set up the couch for Jackson and we can figure it out."

"N-no," I say, shaking my head. "I was just… I was just making sure that you're okay with it?"

Her face softens. "Of course I am, honey," she says. "I wouldn't offer if I weren't. I trust you both, and either way, you're eighteen. You should be trusted within an inch or so."

"Oh," I say, then feel Jackson's arm snake around the small of my back as he leans to kiss my cheek.

"She can be cool sometimes," he says, and I can't help but smile from how close he is.

We get set up in the room that belongs to him. It isn't too personalized because he tells me they haven't come to this place in a while - maybe since he was 13 or 14. It's a nice room, though - the walls are painted blue and the bedspread is a clean, fluffy white. It looks much more comfortable than anything I've ever slept on at home. I can't believe I get to be under it with him all night tonight.

I change into my new pajamas - a pair of soft, cotton shorts and a matching camisole - and try not to feel as bare as I do. I'm not undressed, it's extremely hot out, but the goosebumps don't fade as Jackson looks at me.

"I love that on you," he says, smirking when he comes out of the bathroom. "It's hot."

"I'm not," I say, crossing my arms. "I'm fine. The window… there's a nice breeze coming in from the window."

"Not like that," he says, crossing the room without a shirt on. "The other kinda hot. Like, sexy. You're sexy."

"Oh," I say, and smile when he takes my hand.

"I wanna show you something," he says. "Come outside with me?"

"You're always showing me something," I say, but comply anyway.

He takes me by the hand and leads me outside, past Catherine where she sits at the kitchen table going over something I can't see. I get nervous as we walk by, my obedient instinct kicking in, but all she does is look up and cast us a soft glance.

"Be safe," she says, then looks back at the paper in front of her.

"Why is she like that?" I ask, once we're out of the house and immersed in the balmy air.

"Like what?" Jackson says, entwining our fingers.

"So lenient," I say. "She lets you do whatever you want."

"She trusts me," he says. "I've done some bad shit in the past, but it's in the past. We're in a safe place now, here by the lake. I don't got enemies in St. Joe, only in Chicago. We can be free here, all of us. It's nice, right?"

"Really nice," I say, looking around as we get closer to the water.

"Here. Put your feet in," he says.

We've arrived at the shore, where the waves are hitting the dark sand - rhythmic and soothing. I look at the lake and can't see where it ends, only where the sky meets the water at the horizon. I've never seen something so huge. It makes me feel incredibly small.

The water isn't too cold, but it isn't warm, either. I wiggle my toes in the sand as the waves circle my ankles, and look at Jackson with glee on my face.

"It tickles," I say.

He nods, watching me. "Mm-hmm," he says.

I wade in a bit further, letting go of his hand and walking until the water reaches my knees. I draw my arms into my chest and double over, unable to believe all the sensations I'm feeling. I lower my hands and drag them across the surface of the water, watching the ripples that follow, and cup some before bringing it to my face to take a sip.

"Babe, don't drink that," Jackson laughs. "It's lakewater."

"So?" I say, and take another gulp. "It's nature. God made all this. Look at this. Look at it!"

I stretch my arms out and spin around, my face tipped towards the midnight blue sky. The air is calm and clear, but my heart is beating wild enough to set it on fire. When I open my eyes to the stars, I take a big breath and hold it - hoping to capture this feeling forever so I can resurface it when I go back to the farm.

"It's beautiful," I say, and watch Jackson as he comes to meet me.

His arms wrap around my waist and he gives me a long kiss, so long that I smile against his mouth with the absurdity of its length. When he pulls away, he stares into my face and I see the stars reflected in his expression - right now, my heart is bursting for him, the earth, and what he's turned my life into.

"I love you," I say, holding the sides of his face. I'm not nervous when I say it, because it's true. I do love him. He's shown me more in a month than I've known my entire life. All this warmth has to mean something, and I assume it's love.

He smiles so wide I can practically see all of his teeth. He kisses me again, strong and sure, then picks me up and twirls me around with my feet still in the water.

"I love you, kitty," he says, our noses touching. "I love you so damn much."

…

When he crawls in bed with me that night, I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. I should be thinking about my mother, the bible, God, and what rules have been bestowed upon me. The guidelines that I've been instilled with my entire life. But I'm not thinking about any of those things - all I'm thinking about is the warmth coming from Jackson's body and how it's radiating onto me, and how I'll be able to keep it all night.

"C'mere," he whispers, once he gets situated.

I giggle and reach for him. "Cuddle me," I say, shoving a foot between both of his.

"I got you," he says, and we get so close that there's not a single inch of our bodies that don't touch. We lie there in silence for a few minutes, getting used to the sound of the other's breathing and heartbeat, before he speaks. "How are you doing, being away from it all?" he asks.

I frown a bit, considering the question. "I'm okay," I say, then pause to think. "It's weird, though."

"Yeah."

"It feels wrong," I say. "Like I'm doing something wrong."

"You aren't, though," he says.

"But I… I am," I say. "I'm disobeying my mother. I'm doing what she specifically told me not to do. I'm laying with you, I'm about to fall asleep with you in your bed. She would… I don't even want to think about what she'd…"

"But you're happy," he says. "Aren't you?"

I look up and smile softly, blinking into his eyes. "Yes," I answer. "Very happy."

"So, who is she to take happiness away from you?" he asks. "It's cruel. She's so cruel to you sometimes."

"I know…" I say. "But she's my mom. She's spent my whole life trying to teach me and build me up. She just doesn't want me to hurt myself or go down the wrong path."

"Like she did?"

"I don't know," I say. "I don't know anything about that."

He gets quiet, then kisses my forehead. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to get so deep, I guess. It just makes me mad, what she thinks she can do to you. It makes me mad how she doesn't even really know you, like what an amazing, funny, interesting person you are."

I don't have much of a response for that. I don't know how to fill the silence that follows.

"Sorry," he says again.

"But no one does," I say, gathering my words. "No one really knows. Because… I don't know, it's just not something I show. You're the only person who's ever seen me like this. Except for maybe Alice. She thinks I'm funny sometimes. But my mom doesn't know. A personality isn't something we value. Devotion to God is."

"That's fucked up," Jackson says.

I sigh softly. "You don't understand."

"No, I don't," he says.

"There's a lot about my life you can't wrap your head around," I say. "And there's a lot of things about your life I can't come close to understanding."

"My life isn't that complicated," he says.

"But it's scary, though," I say. "We couldn't go to Chicago because you might get killed if you go back. That's scary, Jackson. I don't know that lifestyle where I come from."

"They can't touch me now," he says, stroking my cheek. "I'm right here with you."

"But what about when it all ends?" I say. "What about in September, when you-"

"I don't wanna talk about that," he says. "Kitty. I'm just happy to be here with you right now."

He might be able to compartmentalize and see things for what they are in the moment, but it's not that easy for me. I told him I loved him, and now our numbered days have become increasingly intrusive. I can't stop thinking about the fact that we don't exist in a vacuum - his life will have to resume at one point. Resume, presumably, without me there.

"I love you," he says, kissing me. "Remember? I love you?"

"I know," I say, trying to lift the weight off my chest. "Because I said it first. I love you."

…

In the morning, I'm not sure where I am when I first open my eyes. The walls are blue, not beige like my room at home, and there's a beachy-smelling breeze coming through the window. There's also a bare chest right next to me, which reminds me that I'm with Jackson at the lake house in St. Joe, Michigan, and last night, I told him I loved him.

My mind is blissfully blank as I lie there, basking in his presence and holding him close. One of his arms is under my head and the other is slung heavy around my hips, keeping me right where I am. Not like I want to move.

He's a sound sleeper; he must have been tired last night. His lips are slack and his cheeks are squishy, unmoving as he's deep in the recesses of his mind. I don't even think he's dreaming.

I turn on my side and flatten a hand over his stomach, which is rising and falling slowly. My thumb finds the trail of hair that leads to his bellybutton, and I gently stroke it for a moment before leaning forward to kiss his chest.

I'm not sure what time it is, but I'm sure it's not late. My internal clock doesn't let me sleep for long, since I'm so used to getting up early. I know I should let him rest, but I don't want to spend time without him any longer. A few minutes is a few too many.

"Jackson," I whisper, looking up at him through my eyelashes. "Wake up."

He doesn't stir, doesn't so much as adjust. He stays dead to the world, unperturbed.

"Wake up…" I say, jostling him slightly. I sigh when he still doesn't respond.

I prop myself up on an elbow and hover over his face, then press my lips to his slack ones.

"Baby," I say, testing out the word and discovering I like the way it sounds and tastes. He responds instantly, eyelashes twitching and fluttering while he makes his way to consciousness. Then finally, his eyelids inch open and I'm met with the cloudy blue of his irises.

"Mmm…" he groans, shifting on the mattress. He pulls me closer, eliciting a soft giggle, and wraps his arms around my back to keep me near.

"Morning," I say, head on his chest.

"It's too early," he says. "Go back to bed."

"I can't," I say, skimming a hand over his bare skin. I love the soft warmth of it. "Plus, I have a question."

"It's too early for questions," he grumbles lightheartedly, lazily kissing the same spot on my hairline over and over again.

I lift up and smirk. "I want a kiss," I say, edging closer so our noses touch and we breathe the same air. He presses his lips to mine and lets them linger, holding the back of my head so I'll stay.

"G'morning," he says, kissing the corner of my mouth after I pull back.

"Hmm…" I hum, smiling with my chin resting on my folded hands.

"What's the question?" he asks, tucking a piece of hair behind my ears.

"What's Chicago like?" I ask, blinking lightly.

"Chicago?" he says.

I nod. "This place is so pretty. I've never seen so much water, so many buildings and houses. I wanna know what the city's like, too."

"The city…" he says, bringing me back to his side to wrap an arm around my shoulder and stroke my arm. "For starters," he says. "It's loud. I think it would take you a sec to get used to how loud it is. It's never quiet, not even at night. That's why the silence of the farm freaked me the fuck out the first couple days. It's creepy."

"It's not creepy," I say, smiling.

"Downtown is cool, but overrated," he says. "A bunch of tourist shit. And they walk slow as fuck, so I mostly avoid that area. I'd take you there, though. So you could see Cloud Gate and Buckingham Fountain and Navy Pier and all that. Yeah, you'd love it. We'll go sometime."

I grin to myself and trace shapes on his chest with the nail of my pointer finger.

"What's really cool is finding these hole-in-the-wall places that not many people know about. I like those. Then, it feels like the city is really yours. I mean, I grew up there. So, it basically is mine. But that feeling is just cool. It's like… you can just be yourself, you don't have to impress anyone, and the people there are cool with you. It's a good feeling, it's like coming home." He sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know if that makes any sense, or if I answered the question that good. It's hard to explain without showing you."

"No, I liked it," I say. "You made me want to see it for myself."

"Someday, right?" he says, tracing the curve of my waist.

"Yeah," I say, although I don't fully believe my words. "Someday."

…

That day, we go downtown by the water. I wear a brand new pair of white denim shorts and a pink shirt, showing more skin in public than I ever have in my life.

We don't waste time eating real food. Instead, we eat sweets for every meal, sweets I've never had. For breakfast, we eat decadent chocolate from Kilwin's - a chocolate shop along the strip. For lunch, we have two huge cones of ice cream. For dinner, I think Catherine is grilling out for us. So, we'll have real food then. But for now, I'm enjoying my Mackinac Island fudge ice cream that's dripping down a waffle cone and onto my hand.

"Missed a spot," Jackson says, thumbing the side of the cone to collect a droplet. Instead of eating it himself, though, he holds his hand out and I lick it from his finger.

My new flip-flops make loud, amusing sounds against my feet as we walk along the sandy boardwalk. I lick my ice cream and enjoy the feeling of Jackson's hand in my back pocket, cupped over my butt, as we stroll. I look up at him every now again with light in my eyes, unable to believe that this is my life.

"See that?" he says, pointing in the distance once we reach the pier. He hops up and reaches for me, helping me climb to join him. I chew the last of my ice cream cone and hoist myself onto the cement, following his eyes once I get there. "The lighthouse?"

"Yeah."

"Look," he says, then points to his bicep which is made bare by the cutoff t-shirt he's wearing. On his skin is a perfectly replicated version of that lighthouse, in tattoo form.

"Wow," I say, glancing at his face before trailing my eyes back down to the blue ink. "It looks exactly like it."

"She did a good job," he says. "It's my favorite lighthouse."

"Why?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I've known it my whole life."

I trace the shape, so much alike to the real thing. "I want one," I say, only half-joking.

"Yeah?" he says. "What are you gonna get?"

"A lighthouse, just like you," I say.

"'Cause you're a copycat?" he asks, winding his arms around my waist and laughing.

"No!" I say, turning my face to the side as I bust up giggling. The sun warms my open skin with his hands on me, and I've never felt happier than I do right now. "No, that's not why."

"Why, then?" he asks, pulling me closer so he can tuck his face into my neck.

"Because…" I say, tracing his shoulder blades gently. "Because lighthouses show you the way home. And being around you… that's home to me."

He stands up straight to look in my eyes and kisses my cheek before moving to my lips. "Way to show me up," he whispers, forehead against mine.

"I know," I mutter back.

"But I love you, so it's alright," he says. "This once."

"Probably won't be the last time," I say.

"Watch yourself," he says, then kisses me again.

Interrupting our moment, a voice I don't recognize sounds near us, saying, "Damn, PDA much?"

Jackson pulls away to look towards the source, and his face changes as he must recognize the person. "Holy shit," he says. "Uh… hey, Burke. What's up, man?"

"Haven't seen you in a minute," this Burke person says. He clasps Jackson's hand then claps him on the back roughly, and Jackson reciprocates. "Where've you been?"

"Around," Jackson says. "Chicago. Don't come here much anymore."

"I see that," Burke says, eyebrows raised. "Got yourself a girl?"

Jackson looks at me and smiles, then rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah," he says. "This is April. April, this is Preston Burke. He's one of my buddies from when we used to come here every summer. Haven't seen him for a while."

Burke nods at me, then glides up and down my body with his eyes. It makes my skin crawl, and I don't know why. No one's ever looked at me like that.

"I gotta run," Burke says. "But I just saw you over here and couldn't believe it was you."

"Sure," Jackson says. "Take care of yourself, man."

"I will," Burke says. "And uh, there's that salon in town, you know. Looks like your girl needs a little trim in all the right places, if you know what I mean."

With that, he walks away and leaves me feeling confused and embarrassed for reasons I'm not even sure of. I cross my arms over my chest and watch Jackson - he's stunned, staring at the other man's back as he leaves.

"Rat bastard," he mutters.

"Why did he say that?" I ask. "What did he mean?"

"It's nothing," he says, holding my shoulders. "Ignore him."

"No, I wanna know," I say.

"It was nothing, kitty," Jackson insists.

"Tell me," I say.

He sighs and rubs his temples with one hand. "It doesn't fuckin' matter."

"Yes, it does," I say, getting frustrated. "He said something about me. I want to know what he meant."

"He was being a douche!" Jackson says, finally. "I don't wanna tell you, 'cause it's gonna make you upset. And it's not even worth it. He's a fucking idiot."

I set my jaw and shift my weight to one side, lifting my chin in the air.

"What, so now you're not gonna talk to me," he says.

"No, because I have the right to know," I say. "Just tell me, Jackson. I don't like being kept in the dark. It makes me feel stupid. I already know I'm sheltered, you're only making it worse."

"Fine!" he says. "He was talking about your legs. Most all girls shave their legs, and you don't. Which is fucking fine, I don't care. If you don't want to, you shouldn't. But he was being a fuckin' dick about it. And I think he meant something about your hair being long. Most girls have it cut into a style, or whatever."

I get quiet as my gut sinks. I've never felt more conscious of my looks. Until now, I haven't had much of a reason to. I didn't know I was supposed to do any of that.

"See, kitty. Fuck," Jackson says. "You can't listen to that shit. You're perfect the way you are. You shouldn't change."

He sets a hand on my shoulder, but I nudge it off. I don't want him touching me, not if I'm as gross and ugly as everyone thinks I am.

"I want it off, then," I say. "The hair. I wanna be like other girls."

"Kitty…" he says.

"No," I say, eyebrows low. "I wanna go to whatever place he said. I don't want to be the gross farm girl. I wanna be normal, Jackson." I look into his eyes while fighting tears. "Please."


	9. Chapter 9

**JACKSON**

"Baby, you don't have to do this."

I place a hand on her arm, fingers circling her thin wrist, but she shakes me off. That act alone stabs me in the gut - I'm not used to being rejected by her and I don't like it.

"I don't want to be called 'baby' right now," she says, cheeks bulging with the tension of her jaw. "I want to go get my hair cut and get the hair off my legs." She looks around - at first warily, then frantically. Tears pool in her eyes but don't fall over. "Everyone is looking at me."

I glance around, but I don't see a single person's eyes on either of us. "No, they're not," I say.

"I'm not like other girls, Jackson," she says, rubbing her arms anxiously.

"That's a good thing," I insist, voice emphatic, because I truly do believe it. Of course, I noticed she doesn't shave her legs. That kind of thing sticks out. But just because I noticed doesn't mean I want her to change. How would she have known differently? I bet she's never even seen a razor before.

"That's easy for you to say when you're not the one feeling ostracized," she says. "I already stick out like a sore thumb because I don't know a thing about the real world. That feels bad enough. This makes me feel…" She shakes her head, warding off tears. "Can we please just go?"

I have no choice but to oblige. I can't help but wonder what my mother will think - and, more importantly, what _hers_ will.

"Sure," I say, with a sigh.

"I know you don't understand," she says, matching my stride as we head towards town. "I just can't help-"

"You don't need to explain," I say, which is true. It's not that I don't get it, it's that I wish Burke hadn't brought it up. April was so untouched by the outside world, so pure. It's not like I think this will taint her in some convoluted way, but it was refreshing to be around someone so unaffected by everything. Who gives a fuck if her hair is long and unstyled and she doesn't shave her legs? It doesn't matter. I loved that it didn't matter. But now, I'm no one to tell her that it can't matter.

We don't talk on the way there. I want to voice what I'm thinking without seeming like I'm trying to change her mind, but I don't know how to make that happen. So, instead, I stay quiet. It's her body. She can do whatever she wants with it.

Once we arrive, I put my hand on the glass door and stop her from entering.

"What will your mom say?" I ask, pointedly.

She tucks her hair behind her ears - her wispy, flyaway, hair - and looks at me with a guarded expression. "I don't know," she says. "I don't wanna think about it right now."

"Don't you think you kinda… should?" I say.

"I just want to get it over with," she says, pushing my hand out of the way to open the door.

I'm taken aback; it's the first forceful act I've never seen her do. I let out a soft breath and follow her inside, met by the smell of expensive products she's never seen or heard of before.

Before anyone can even greet her, April, in her socially awkward glory, blurts out, "Hi. I need someone to cut my hair."

…

I sit beside her in a vacant spinning chair while the stylist goes to work. April couldn't specify much, she has no idea about cuts and trends, but she gave the girl a general length and told her to run with it. The stylist said she was going to put in soft layers and a face frame, and take off about eight inches, leaving the ends just past her shoulders. April was all for it.

"Can you take the hair off my legs, too?" she asks, as the stylist combs her wet bangs forward to trim them.

"We offer waxing services, yes," she says. "Legs, face, armpits, and the bikini area."

"Kitty," I say, a bit disturbed at the idea. Waxing would scare the shit out of her. I've heard it hurts like a bitch. "You can shave at home.

She widens her eyes and mouths what she says next, not wanting the woman to hear. _I don't know how._

"I'll help you," I say, then run my fingers over my facial hair. "I'm a pro."

She concedes, luckily, and sits quietly as the beautician works. It takes a good chunk of time, and a lot of hair comes off. I can't help but stare while it creates a fiery pile on the floor around our feet.

After it's over, her hair blow-dries curly. Curlier than it's ever been, and I have to admit, it's gorgeous. There's a new shine to it, and it looks healthier than ever. It bounces when she walks, and her smile lights up the room when she looks in the mirror.

"It looks…" she says, fluffing the ends. "Wow! I can't believe… it's so short! But I love it. Really, I love it. Thank you."

We head to the counter as April goes for the door. "Excuse me, miss?" her stylist says. "That'll be $65."

April stops in her tracks, dumbfounded. She gapes - mouth hanging open, eyes frantic - as she realizes this costs money.

"I-I…" she stammers, but I don't let her get any further.

"No prob," I say, then slide my card across the counter.

"Jackson," April hisses, yanking my arm.

"It's all good," I assure her, then thank the woman when she hands the card back.

We walk out of the salon and April swishes her hair as she turns to look at me. "You did not have to pay," she says.

"I wanted to," I say. "Plus, there wasn't really another option."

"I would've figured something out," she says, then sighs. "You didn't even want me to cut my hair, and I made you pay for it. I feel bad."

"Stop," I say. "One, you didn't _make_ me do anything. Two, what matters is that _you_ wanted to cut it. It's your hair. It doesn't matter what I think."

She gives me a strange, confused look, like she's trying to figure me out.

"What?" I say.

She realizes she's staring and breaks away, eyes forward again. I look at her shoulders, which I now have a great view of - all freckled and on their way to being sunkissed.

"Just not used to hearing that, I guess," she says. "What someone else thinks always seems to be more important than what I think."

I smirk to myself, albeit sadly. I can't imagine living like that. I swing an arm around her and pull her close, stomach jumping when she looks at me with a warm, sweet expression. I don't need to respond with words. The feelings passed between us are enough.

…

"What if you cut me?" April asks, from the lip of the tub. "That looks sharp."

"It is sharp," I say, running the faucet as I wait for the water to get warm. She's sitting across from me, skinny legs bare, wearing only a pair of underwear and a t-shirt. "That's the point. But I won't cut you."

"But what if you do."

"Have you ever seen a nick on my face? Ever?"

"Yeah, but this isn't a face. These are legs. Totally different. You could cut me."

"If I cut you," I say, leaning forward with a hand braced on either of her shins. "We'll call an ambulance and rush you to the hospital on a stretcher and they'll put you in the ICU. Happy?"

She giggles, eyes twinkling. "Good plan," she says.

I shake my head lightheartedly and lather my hands with shaving lotion we picked up before coming home. I wet her right leg first and run my hands from the ankle to just above the knee, watching myself work. She's watching me, too - I feel her eyes.

Once she's all sudsy, I wet the razor and start my task. I drag the razor over small areas so the hair doesn't get caught and tangled, and she stays completely still. I can't help but be amused that she's so worried I'll slice her.

I'm about halfway to the knee when I start talking again. "You're seriously not worried about what your mom will say?" I ask, testing the waters. I bang the razor on the side of the tub and keep a steady hand on her dry leg - for comfort, mostly. Comfort for both of us.

She bites the inside of her lip and sighs, turning over the answer in her mind. "Yes," she says, touching a bit of the shaving cream with the pad of her pointer finger and swirling it in a circle. "I am. I'm very worried, actually."

I don't ask the questions on the tip of my tongue, because I have to give her the time and space to get there. She takes a while, head tipped back, pretty throat open, while I keep at her legs.

"But…" she sighs, still struggling. "You know how my sisters, Libby and Kimmie, you know how they call me 'Duckie?'"

I nod. I have heard them say that.

"That's short for 'ugly duckling,'" she says, trouble swimming in her eyes. "I've had that nickname my whole life, at least as long as I can remember. I've always been the unfortunate one, but I've never really cared much. We're taught that modesty is important, one of the most important things. And on the farm, who really cares? You know. I had no reason to care until…" She clears her throat. "Until you."

I'm not sure how to feel about that. Honored? Guilty? A mixture of both?

"I realized I didn't need to care," she says. "You've never made me feel bad about myself. You don't make me feel weird. It wasn't 'til coming here that I figured out I was different. Around all these other girls who know so much, who're so poised and perfect and beautiful… and I'm just me."

I open my mouth to argue, but she holds a hand up. I don't make a sound.

"I felt ugly. They've always called me ugly on the farm, but I never felt it. The word didn't hold any weight. But here, no one had to tell me. I stuck out enough. And now…" The expression on her face lifts, she seems to grow lighter when she touches her hair and runs her fingers through the fluffy curls. "Jackson, for the first time in my entire life, I feel pretty."

I smile. It starts out as a tiny grin, but soon morphs to take over my whole face. She feels pretty. She feels what she actually is, on the inside and out. I don't have another word to say in refuting her transformation. The way she feels is all that matters.

"Good," I say, wrapping both hands around one of her ankles and leaning forward to kiss her kneecap. I've already shaved it, but there's still some residue of the cream and it gets stuck to my lips when I pull away.

"You've got…" she says, giggling, and doesn't finish her sentence.

Instead, she cups my face and brings it to hers, pressing our lips together and subsequently getting the shaving cream on her skin, too. We're both laughing when it's over.

"This tastes horrible," she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a luminous smile on her face.

I don't have a response. It does taste horrible - brash, chemical and tangy on my tongue - but the taste of her mouth overpowers it. Sweetness, purity, and light - she outshines any bad taste I've ever known.

…

Once we're done in the bathroom, April can't stop touching her legs. I used some of my mom's lotion on them, and she's absolutely enamored with the way they feel. While my mom turns on the grill for burgers, April is still trailing her fingertips across her thighs, down to her calves and ankles, enthralled.

"So, April," Mom says, looking over her shoulder where my girlfriend sits. I smile to myself as I think the world 'girlfriend.' I've gotten used to it so fast. It's wild to think that we haven't known each other for that long, because judging by the way I feel about her, it seems like I've known her for years. We just fit. "How do you like being away from the farm?"

I stand next to my mom and set the meat on the grill. We work well together. We've been grill partners for my whole life.

"It's so…" April begins, then leans back in the metal chair and crosses those thin, pretty legs. "Big." She says the last word with a soft, airy giggle.

"It sure is," Mom says, smiling too. She's captivated by April just like I am, I can tell. It's all in the way she looks at her. Like she sees more than what's on the surface, much more. Like I can. Me and my mom have more in common than I'd like to admit. "Very big. Your haircut is lovely, by the way. Was that your idea?" She addresses the question at me.

I shake my head, and April pipes up. "It was mine," she says. "Thank you."

I know my mom is dying to ask the question I've already posed: what will Karen think? She doesn't pry, though. She lets April get there on her own. That's how Mom works.

"Jackson helped shave my legs, too," she says, still touching them. I watch her hands and hope to god she'll let me substitute them with my own later. I've been dying to touch her like we did at the farm. It's funny that she risked life and limb to be intimate with me there, but initiated nothing last night. I didn't push, of course. But I had wanted to fool around a little bit.

"That was nice," Mom says, glancing at me with a glint in her eye. "I hope he didn't cut you."

"He didn't," April says. "Not once."

There's a pause then, filled only with the sizzle of the burgers. April sits pensive and quiet, and Mom waits for her to speak. I know the expectant quiet better than anyone else. She always gets what she wants out of it, too. It's not malicious, but it is effective.

"I almost don't want to go back," April says, fulfilling the space she was meant to. "I mean, just not yet." She adds the last part almost guiltily.

"No?" Mom says, encouragingly.

April sighs. "It's just so nice here. So relaxing. I don't have anything to worry about. No mom, no sisters, no animals or school. No…"

Matthew. That's what she's looking for next - no Matthew. But she doesn't fill in the gap.

"That's exactly how I feel when I come out here, too," Mom says. "But it must be tenfold for you."

"Yeah," April says, then shifts to rest her elbows on the table. She stares at her hands and picks at her bare nails, getting lost in her mind. There's so much that's begging to be said; she's practically bursting with words. I silently beg her to set them free.

"Does it scare you?" Mom asks.

April looks up almost as if she's startled by the question. Her eyes are wide and wondering, eyebrows raised with expectation. "A little," she finally admits.

"I can only imagine," Mom says. "When you've been plucked out of such a small world and thrown into one so much bigger."

"And this isn't even as big as it gets," I throw in. "You should see the city."

"One step at a time," Mom says, elbowing me gently. "This is enough culture shock." She directs her attention back to April, who's gotten lost in her thoughts again. "Is this the first time you've left Otsego?" she asks.

April nods slowly, blinking at the same rate.

"Have you ever wanted to go somewhere?" Mom presses. "Leave, for a while? Just to get away?"

April takes in a long breath, then lets it out with care. "I…" she begins, then her features crumple. "No. Not really. I… that's not what we've been taught. To be adventurous, nothing like that. Being at home is more important. Being around family, people we know. Being close to church, close to God."

"God," Mom muses. "He is very important to your family."

"Yes," April says, and her voice goes thin. I know what she must be thinking. He is supposedly supposed to be closest to her, yet she's betraying Him by almost every action she's carried out in the past month. It must be pretty fucking confusing.

"You've been religious your whole life, is that right?"

"Yes," she answers. "Religion is worked into our school lessons, and we go to church at least twice a week. I also go to youth group. It's where my…" She clears her throat. "My friends are."

"Were you ever given the option of public school?"

"No," she says. "I wouldn't want that, anyway. I wouldn't fit in."

"Don't sell yourself short," Mom says instantly. I'm glad for it. She's right. "You'd do perfectly fine. You're a smart girl, April. Very smart."

April smiles bashfully and shakes her head, blush blooming. "You can't know that," she mutters. "I'm no smarter than anyone else."

"You're wrong," Mom says, turning around to look at her with purpose. "It's not something I need to see proof of with schoolwork or speaking. It's something I see when I look into your eyes. Those pretty hazel eyes of yours… my dear, they tell me everything I need to know." There's a moment of pause where my mother and girlfriend look meaningfully at each other, and I wonder what they're thinking. "And they're telling me that you are far from being your mother's daughter."

This troubles April, I see the disturbance pass over her face. She isn't sure how to react, how to respond. She isn't used to being put on the spot, nor does she know how to take the statement. I'm not, either. Was it a compliment? A diss? Sometimes my mom can be so vague and cryptic. You don't really understand what she's saying until you're meant to. She works in fucking odd ways.

"Of course I am," she says. "I have her hair, and my daddy's eyes. That's what everyone always says."

"No, no," Mom says. "You're missing the point. Of course, you're their child by blood. And blood is a powerful thing, but it can't overpower what's in your soul."

"I'm not sure I follow," April says, gone meek again.

"You're different from your mother," Mom says. "You don't hide from the world. It's what you've been taught to do, and of course it would take time to grow out of it. But it's not your natural state. You're curious. You challenge ideas. You make things your own. You see people, and people see you. You're a radiant presence in the room, sweetheart. That isn't something they cultivated for you. You grew it yourself; you were damn well born with it. And I see it. Your mama sees it, too, I have no doubt. And I have no doubt that by suffocating you, she's trying to protect you from the very thing that makes you special."

April's brow furrows. "Why would she do that?"

My mom sighs, and lines appear on her forehead. She's probably wondering how much further she should take this. I silently beg her to keep talking - she already dug the hole. Now, she has to see us to the other side.

"She thinks it'll get you hurt," she says. "People will see that light shining in you and want to take it."

"Why would someone do that?" April asks.

"People can be cruel," Mom says. "There's truth in that. Your mother is scared of the world and the cruelty inside it, having suffered at its hand herself. She has every right to feel the way she does. But she doesn't have the right to keep you from living a beautiful life. She has no right to keep you chained to that farm, locked away from possibilities you could never imagine."

April stops listening for the latter half of the statement. She hangs onto one thing and one thing only, and I know because I do, too.

"What happened to my mom?" she asks, curious and nervous.

The burgers are ready now. We take pause in the conversation to gather plates and bring them to the table, along with fruit salad and iced tea. It's a perfect dinner just as the sun sets, and I'm hungry. Me and April have eaten like shit all day.

"I know you probably don't want to tell me," April says, her voice having reached a level of desperation. "But, please. I know next to nothing about her. If I knew… maybe it would help me understand her better."

Mom weighs the options in her head as we take the first bite. After she chews, she takes a sip of tea and sits forward, ready to spill.

"Your mother and I met in Chicago," she says. "During college. We went to the University of Chicago, which is very large and very esteemed. We were best friends."

"You were?" April says, baffled. I feel the same, but I don't want to interrupt.

"Yes. We were inseparable," Mom says. "We were pretty opposite from one another, but we got on. She was religious then, too - not as much, but a decent amount - and I wasn't. I had an interest and appreciation for it, though. So, I'd go to service with her sometimes. I liked going and she liked taking me. Life was great. That is, until the fall of our junior year. I was supposed to meet her after church - I couldn't go that night because I'd been studying - and we were supposed to go to the diner nearby to catch up. But she never showed."

I'm hanging on my mother's every word, and so is April. If I'm this interested, I can't imagine how she must be feeling.

"I wore myself out looking for her. I was stupid not to call the police right away, but you don't really think things through when something like that happens. You don't think it could have been something bad or terrible. She probably just took a nap and slept too long. Why would I call the police over a missed alarm clock? I felt silly for even considering it. But, after finding out what happened, I realized I shouldn't have felt that way."

"What happened?" April asks. Her eyes are glassy, glistening with tears. She's afraid - feeling the fear for her mother all those years ago. "What happened to her?"

My mom inhales deeply and puts her burger down, addressing the situation as it should be addressed. "Honey, people don't always have the purest intentions," she begins. April hangs onto every last word she says. "That night, your mother was beaten and raped in a tunnel between the church and our dorms. I won't go into the details, you-"

"What does that mean?" April asks. "What does 'raped' mean?"

I saw that coming, but Mom didn't. Her face falls. By the look in her eyes, I think she's realizing just how sheltered Karen has kept her daughters. Now, for me, the pieces fall into place as to why.

"When two people want to have sex with each other, that's called 'consensual sex,'" Mom begins. "When one party doesn't want it, that's not consent. That's called rape."

"So…" April says, wavering. "Someone forced sex on my mom."

"Yes," my mother continues.

April sits with the information for a moment and lets it stew. "She hasn't been the same since," she mutters.

My mom shakes her head solemnly. I chew on a pickle as quietly as I can.

"Is that why she's so scared to let me out?" she asks. "Let us out? Me and my sisters?"

Mom nods. "After it happened, she dropped out of school. She'd been an English major. She loved to read and write, poems were her specialty. She wanted to be published someday. But she couldn't focus on school anymore. Around every corner, she was sure someone would be there, coming to get her. I suggested therapy; I'd heard it could help. Now, I know for sure it could have. But she wouldn't listen. She decided to take a year off, go home to Michigan and turn to the church." She sighs. "She never came back. I heard, a few years later, that she got married to your father and I was happy for her then."

"My daddy's a good man," April says firmly. "He would never let anything like that happen again. He's good to her."

"I'm sure he is," Mom says, then lets a thick pause fill the air.

April simmers for a moment as well. Her lips are tense, food untouched, hands restful on her lap. She's deep in thought, but the fear of the unknown is gone from her eyes. She looks somewhat settled, while still trying to process everything.

"She thinks something bad will happen to me," April says, looking up. "I don't understand, though. Why would she let me spend so much time with Jackson if she's so scared I'll get hurt?"

Mom shrugs and shakes her head lightly. "My best guess is that it's because she knows me. She knows I raised a good son. She met Jackson when he was very small - you did, too. Neither of you remember, you weren't even three years old. He was a little gentleman, even then. She fell in love with him right away, it was hard not to with those eyes and curls. She's always had a soft spot for him. So, when I needed to get him out of Chicago, she was there to help me."

April folds her hands. I still haven't said a word - I don't think I need to. This isn't my place. I'm here for support and to listen only.

April opens her mouth, eyebrows set firmly. "But I'm not her," she says. Her eyes are strong, but her voice cracks. Her words surprise me - I'd expected her to retreat into her shell after hearing what my mom had to say. That's even what I might do. But she looks ahead with a steady expression - eyes glassy, but jaw clenched. "That won't happen to me."

Mom sighs. It seems like this hour has been full of sighs. "She has trouble separating herself from the four of you," she says. "I know all she's doing is trying to protect you from the evil that still haunts her. But she's going about it in the wrong way."

April's face turns red, subtly at first before flushing a brilliant crimson. "It's not fair," she says. "She never gave us a chance."

"You're right," Mom says. "She hasn't been fair to you. But I thought that I owed you the reason as to why, at least."

April nods tersely. "Thank you," she says, then lifts her gaze. "For telling me more than my mother ever has."

…

That night, the setting sun doesn't cool down the air. April and I sit in the sand, feet in the water, both in swimsuits. Hers is a muted blue with a v-cut chest and a tie around the neck, and I'm in plain black trunks. She's been quiet since dinner, assumedly trying to swallow all she was told. I can't blame her. I would be rattled, too.

She sits with her knees bent, arms behind her, face turned towards the starry sky. Her skin is illuminated - the light from the moon makes the paleness glow. I can't stop looking at her. I want to memorize everything she is.

"You okay?" I ask finally, too much silence having passed. I want to know what's going on inside her head.

She looks at me for a brief moment before turning back to the water. It's calm, with only gentle waves lapping the shore, lapping at our ankles.

"I'm okay," she says, quiet but sure.

"A lot to take in," I say.

She nods, and I watch her cute little stomach rise and fall with the slowness of her breath.

"Did it scare you?" I ask.

She takes a second before answering. "No," she says. "It made me feel bad, more than anything. Sorry for my mom. What she went through was so scary. But she's bottling it up. That's what she's taught us to do, too."

"Yeah."

"I really don't want to do it anymore, though," she admits, almost as if she's coming to the realization right then. She sits up and hugs her knees, toes digging into the dark, wet sand. "I don't want to hide my feelings," she says, and turns to look right in my eyes.

"You shouldn't," I say.

"I know," she says, then reaches to take my hand. "You make me feel so much, Jackson."

I smirk. "You make me go fucking crazy."

She snorts and squeezes my fingers, then takes a deep breath. She gathers her gumption and crawls over, sand on her knees, and straddles my hips to rest her arms on my shoulders.

"Is this okay?" she asks.

"Of course it is," I answer, winding my arms around the small of her back. "It always is."

She angles her head, nearing it to mine, and opens her mouth to kiss me. I lower my hands and knead her ass as my tongue touches hers, and she whimpers softly - the sound disappearing between my lips to slip down my throat, where it'll stay forever.

Moving her arms off my shoulders, she winds them around my neck to pull me closer. Her breath is hot and tepid on my skin when she comes up for air, but we don't spend much time apart. I dig my fingers into the pliable skin of her ass, urging her closer, and her hips jerk against my torso of their own volition.

"Sorry," she breathes, and I cup her face with my palms and shake my head with a smile.

I run my hands up her back, over the dip of her spine and the sharp angle of her shoulder blades, up to the tie on her neck. I trace the bow and her breath catches as she places her weight in my lap completely.

I move my hands away. That reaction wasn't exactly giving me the go-ahead, so I decide pulling back is the best option. I don't want to rush her. Even though we've already moved past this stage, something about being at the lake house and away from the farm feels different. Like what we're doing is more real somehow.

I move my grip back to her sides, squeezing her small waist between my hands, and roll us onto the sand with her body under mine. As she catches her breath, her collar bones stand out prominently against her alabaster skin, and she waits for what I'll do next. Honestly, I'm not sure what that is, either. I'm walking on eggshells with what I can and can't do to her.

"Jackson," she whispers, hugging my waist with her thighs.

"Yeah," I respond, one hand on her belly that's gone concave with the way she's lying. I rub my thumb over the sheeny material of her swimsuit, wondering what she'll say.

"I have… that feeling," she says, and as her hips squirm I know what she means. _That_ feeling. Of course she does. I do, too. I'm almost fully hard, but I didn't want to pressure her into making something come of it. Right now, she calls the shots. And that's fine - I just have to get used to it.

"Oh," I say.

She clears her throat and looks at me, hands on my shoulders, fingers dancing over my balmy skin. "I…" she begins, then looks away. She huffs out a short breath, then brings her eyes back. "We're away from the farm. I don't know when… we might not get… we have the chance right now."

We lock eyes, and I wonder if she's saying what it sounds like she is. I furrow my eyebrows a bit, not wanting to assume. There's a blank space I'm sure she wants me to fill, but I won't. I need her to do it.

"April, what are you trying to say?" I ask.

A wave of thoughts washes over her face - ones I try to follow, but they're swept back to sea too quickly.

"If-if you want," she says, stammering a bit. "If you want to, I want to have sex. With you. Here."

I try to keep my smile at bay, try to keep myself under control. Keep calm; don't scare her off.

"Here?" I joke. "You might get sand in places you definitely don't want it."

She smacks my chest, mouth screwed up in a smile she tries to fight. "Stop," she says. "Don't make me feel stupid."

"I'm fucking with you," I say, tucking my face into her neck to drop a few sweet kisses. "Of course I wanna have sex with you."

"You do?" she asks.

"Yes, kitty," I say, smiling.

She grins, too - incredulously, like she can't believe it's really happening. In all honesty, I can't either. I knew I wanted to sleep with her the moment I saw her, but I never thought it would actually happen. There was no way it could under the thumb of her family at the farm. But she said it herself - we're away, and this might be our last chance for a while. I refuse to entertain the thought that it'll be our only chance.

"We should go inside," I say. "Like I said, the sand…"

"Right," she says, and scrambles out from underneath me. She adjusts her swimsuit as she stands and I watch her, eyes glinting, as she walks lightly on her feet back towards the house.

I sigh with relief that my mom is in the basement - that way, she can't call us out when she sees us heading upstairs.

Just as we come to my bedroom, April stops and leans toward the bathroom, stopping to stutter-step awkwardly between the two rooms.

"What're you doing?" I ask.

"I… I was going to take a shower," she says.

"You took one earlier today," I say.

"I know," she says, voice soft. "I just don't wanna be… you know."

"Baby, you don't need a shower," I say. "Come here. I just… I just want you."

"You want me?" she asks, eyes shimmering.

"Yes, holy fuck," I say, chuckling as I wrap my arms around her and lead her into the bedroom.

"You can't wait anymore?" she teases.

"Not another fuckin' second," I say, playfully growling into her bouncy curls. "I wanna get you naked so bad."

"Jackson..." she titters, throwing her head back as she giggles.

I shut and lock the door, and she sits on the bed to fiddle with the tie behind her neck. She stares ahead with a concentrated expression, and once it comes undone, she holds the front of the suit in place.

"I can't believe we're gonna do this," she says, amused.

"Do you still want to?" I ask.

"Yes," she says, then lays back with the fabric still covering her. "Do we take our clothes off now?"

"We can," I say. "We can do whatever we want. There's no rules. Just whatever makes you feel good, kitty."

"And you, too," she says.

"Mmm…" I say, climbing to straddle her hips. "I'm more worried about you right now."

She licks her bottom lip and folds down the swimsuit on her chest, wriggling out of it until it's past her ankles and on the floor. Suddenly, she's stark naked beneath me and my boner has made itself pretty damn obvious. She's perfect - her body lithe and fragile, but strong with muscles from the farm underneath. She's exquisite.

"Stop," she says. "You're staring."

"I'm allowed to stare," I say, peppering kisses along her jawline. "My girlfriend is beautiful. Why shouldn't I stare at her?"

"Jackson," she says, hands flat on my chest while rolling her eyes.

"You said it yourself earlier," I say. "You feel pretty. Let me say it, then. You're more than pretty. You're fuckin'... you're the most gorgeous, stunning, perfect-"

"Stop, stop, stop," she says, hands on my neck. "Just kiss me."

I don't fight her on that. I cradle her delicate face in my hands and kiss her with all I've got; I try and put everything I'm feeling into the way my lips move over hers. She sighs into my mouth, whines when it feels good, then takes one hand and moves it to her chest.

I kiss her harder as I palm her breast. It's small and fits perfectly in my fingers, the nipple already straining. I move away from her face, down her throat, and stop when I reach the puckered bud on the right. It's practically begging for my mouth, so I don't wait.

My tongue laves over the bumps risen on the skin surrounding, and I graze my teeth over the place in the middle. She gasps, clutches at my ears, and rolls onto her side - forcing me onto mine, too.

With my hands spread wide on the small of her back, I bury my face between her small, round breasts. When I pull away, I notice my stubble has caused a red irritation to bloom, but I pay it no mind. I want to mark her tonight. I want to make her mine - even more than she already is. I want her to know it. I want everyone to know it.

I nibble her skin softly, pushing one hip so she falls on her back again. I create a light path of bite-marks down her belly, through the peach fuzz, and down to the bumps of her hip bones. Glancing between her legs, I'm so glad she didn't want to shave there. Natural looks best on her. I can't imagine it any other way.

"Can I eat you out?" I ask, gently easing apart her thighs.

She tosses her head back on the pillow, then looks down from where she lies - wide open and vulnerable. "You can do anything to me," she breathes, and my dick twitches. Holy fuck, this girl.

I run my hands up her stomach to squeeze her breasts softly, then breathe hot air between her legs with an open mouth. I make sure the breath comes softly, just enough to tease her, and she twitches because of it. She inches her legs apart further and angles her hips up, tempting me, and I run my thumb over her glistening curls and kiss her core softly.

I push her legs up by the backs of her thighs, raising her knees above my head to go down on her that way. She whimpers and cries, her body trembles under me, but I don't stop. I don't give her any time to catch her breath. I open my mouth and push her legs so the knees bend, then spread them once she gets close.

"You like that, kitty?" I rasp, kissing her outer lips. She's slick and shining with arousal, and her chest is flushed. It matches the crimson hue of her face.

She nods fervently, glancing between my face and her throbbing core. "More," she says. "Please."

"Mmm… fuck," I grunt, then go in with the goal of making her come harder than she has yet. I keep edging her - teasing her close to climax before easing her away, and the sounds she makes reward me for it.

I separate her folds with two fingers so I can go as deep as possible with my tongue, and close my eyes while shaking my head back and forth. She shrieks with surprise and pleasure, body jolting, as I hum against her and make her body vibrate in response.

She's sweating and panting, arms thrown above her head and knees spread wide on the mattress. I fit perfectly between them - and if it were up to me, I'd never leave. I want to stay right where I am for the rest of my life.

"Jackson," she says, uttering my name and calling me back to reality. "I keep feeling… I'm getting so close… I want it..."

She wants it.

"Anything for you, baby," I say, then glide two fingers in and stroke her g-spot torturously slow while my tongue is wrapped around her clit.

She screams at the top of her lungs when it happens, totally out of control. Her hips slam against my face, her shoulders lift from the bed, and her body explodes in a spree of tremors. She grabs my head with fierce strength, nails digging into my scalp, and clenches her thighs around my ears as an evidently powerful orgasm rips through her body and sends her reeling.

She curls into herself once the big shock has passed, breathing heavily, sides rising and falling rapidly. "Did I hurt you," she pants, grappling for my face to bring me close.

"Never," I say, licking my lips. I hold her face with one hand and tuck the other in the fold of her knee to toss her leg over my waist.

"I've never had one like that before," she whispers, kissing my nose and the corner of my mouth. "It felt so good… so… so crazy good."

"I could tell," I say, finger-brushing her hair back.

"Will it feel like that when you're inside me?" she asks, eyes doe-like once again.

"Um…" I say, trying to figure out a way to word the truth. "Probably not the first time."

Her expression turns confused. She doesn't know what I mean. Why shouldn't it feel as good as what I've been doing to her? Why should she compromise that feeling for something that will only benefit me?

"Girls' bodies are different," I explain. "It'll take some time for you to get used to…" I clear my throat. "Me. You just won't be used to it."

I've never been with a virgin before. I'm not really sure what to expect. But I tell myself that, no matter how good it feels when I'm buried in her, that her feelings come first. If she wants to stop, we stop. Right then.

"Will it hurt?" she asks.

I scratch my cheek, doing away with an invisible itch. "It might at first," I say. "Do you still want to do it?"

She nods without hesitating. "Yeah, I do," she says.

"We can go as slow as you want," I say. "I would never… your first time, it's not going to be crazy. It'll just be soft and gentle, you know."

"You? Soft and gentle?" she says, playing with me.

"It is possible," I say, smirking before stroking her cheekbone and kissing her button nose. After a period of silence has passed, I whisper, "Are you scared, baby girl?"

"No," she whispers, moving her arm to rest on the side of my neck. She inches closer, opening her mouth to breathe against my lips, and I skim one hand over the round of her ass. "It's you. I could never be scared of you."

I kiss her heartily, squeezing her ass and wrinkling my forehead. I take a deep breath through my nose and try to inhale her, and she holds the back of my head to keep me close. When we pull apart, we're both breathless and jumpy, anxious for what's to come.

"I love you," she says. "I'm ready."

I nod surely, then reach over her to slip a hand into the nightstand drawer. I always bring condoms with me, and that's where I chose to store them - not because I assumed we'd have sex, but because it would be convenient if we did. It ended up working out.

She watches while I roll it on, mouth open and heart beating so forcefully that I feel it through her damp skin. She keeps one hand on my chest while I roll her onto her back, and we lock eyes for a long, meaningful moment.

"Yeah?" I make sure, one last time.

"Yes," she says, widening her thighs. I'm hovering right over her, our bodies lined up just right. "Yeah."

I hold my dick and guide it inside her, nudging apart her lips to let the head go first. I can't help but watch it disappear, becoming all the more turned on as it does, and listen to her breathing. When I'm halfway, I do my best not to let the sensation take over.

"You good?" I ask.

She spreads her knees further, welcoming me deeper. "I'm okay," she says.

She's so tight. I knew she would be, and I knew it would be amazing, but I really wasn't prepared for any of this. Her body surrounds me in every sense of the word, and I want nothing more than to lose myself in her. But I promised myself to stay present, so that's what I'll do. I won't let my body take over and my brain shut off. Her first time should be amazing, and I'm determined to make it so.

"Are you in all the way?" she asks, squinting a bit.

I look down. "No," I say, ego boosted because she thought as much. "Do you want me to stop?"

"You're just...big," she sighs, adjusting her hips. "Put it all the way in. I wanna see how it feels."

I do as she says, snapping my hips forward and burying myself to the hilt. My eyes flutter shut and my mouth drops open, floored by how good it feels to have a part of my body planted within hers. She breathes evenly and blinks slow, gently scraping her nails up and down my back while curving her spine to try and get used to the way it feels - the way I feel.

"You okay?" I ask.

"I don't know," she says, then winces. "It hurts a little."

"Do you want me to pull out?" I ask. "Do you wanna stop?"

"No, no," she says, centering herself. "I want this. Jackson, I want this."

I smile, I can't help it. "Okay," I say, then kiss her long and slow.

"Can you… can you start, then?" she asks.

I move my hips slow at first - slow and calculated, each thrust the same measure as the last. I try and keep my sounds at bay, but it's hard with how awesome it feels to be fucking her. There's more than once that my mouth hangs open and some unearthly grunt escapes, giving away how lost I am in the way she feels. The way she makes _me_ feel.

"Do you like it?" she asks.

I nod as best I can, losing myself while trying not to. "You're so fuckin' perfect," I say, flattening my body against hers while relishing the feeling of her naked chest against mine. I love the way her breasts flatten out and the pricks of her nipples drag across my skin subtly. It's all fucking amazing - I don't want to forget a single bit. "Yes. I love it."

She smiles breathily, holding onto my shoulders while I continue to pump my hips into her. She hides her face in my neck and leaves kisses behind, feverishly, like she's in a hurry, though I'm not going fast at all.

"Fuck, I love you," I say, muscles tensing as I inevitably skirt the edge. I had a feeling I wouldn't last long. There was no way, given that it's April. "I love you, kitty."

"I love you," she replies, voice a soft whisper, nearly unintelligible.

"I can't…" I stammer, teeth gritted as I try and slow my roll. I'm going to bust if I'm not careful, and I really wanted her to go first. I don't know how realistic that thought is anymore, though. "I can't last that much longer," I admit. "I'm gonna fuckin' blow my load, you feel so damn good, I can't-"

"Go ahead," she says. "You can."

Encouraged by her words, I go a bit rougher and let my brain shut off for just a moment. I close my eyes and take in the feeling of her hands on my neck, her feet on my calves, and her inner walls fluttering to accommodate me. I take it all in. I think of how in love I am with her, and how she forces me to feel things no one ever has before. I think about how being with her even makes me think differently.

In the moment it happens, though, I'm not thinking at all. My brain has been lit on fire, all the synapses shooting off as the orgasm ripples through my body like a slow-burning ember, sparking at the nerve endings. My pulse hammers through my skin steadily as I let out a series of animalistic sounds, squeezing my eyes shut tight as she grabs my face and kisses me hard.

"You're the perfect one," she whispers, lifting her hips as I ride out the last of it inside her. "You're so, so, so perfect."

I don't have the mental clarity to respond, but I keep kissing her with all my might. I suck on her tongue and pull her bottom lip into my mouth, worrying it with my teeth, and keep a good hold on her even after the muscle spasms have stopped.

I don't say anything for a while; I just keep April in my arms and keep kissing her. She soaks it all in with a blissful expression on her face - eyes closed, lips pulled up in a smile without showing teeth, hands all over me. The moment I stop, though, she opens her eyes and gives me a little pout.

"Don't stop," she says.

I chuckle and continue to kiss all the skin I can reach. I even lift her arm and kiss her armpit, which makes her shriek with laughter and fight to put it back down. Once it's at her side again, she tucks both arms between our chests and nuzzles my nose, ghosting her lips over mine before whispering that she loves me.

I can't help but believe that what I feel for her is more than love. I'm fucking enamored with everything she is and does.

"Baby," I say, rubbing a hand down her side. "You didn't come, did you?"

I'd been so distracted with how mind-blowing my orgasm was, I didn't think twice about hers. I'm a fucking ass.

"Oh," she says, blushing as if we aren't naked wrapped up in each other. "I… was I supposed to?"

Was she supposed to. I can't get enough.

"Yes," I say, caressing her face. "But it's okay that it didn't happen the first time. It'll get better."

"Okay," she says.

"You want me to give you one the old-fashioned way?" I ask, and when she looks at me confusedly I lift up my fingers and wiggle them.

She slaps my arm. "You're foul," she says.

"Is that a yes…?" I ask, kissing her neck as the hand already begins to slide lower.

She widens her thighs and lets out a salacious little sigh when I sink two fingers inside her heat. I push them as deep as the second knuckle, going as far as her moans tell me, and she writhes like she always does as the feeling returns.

She flips onto her side, back against my chest, and I keep my hand where it is. With her ass against my crotch, my dick sits right between her ass cheeks and due to the placement, inevitably starts to get hard all over again. I ignore it, though. Right now isn't the time. It's time to get her off - she deserves it.

She arches her back and forces her ass tighter against me when I rub circles on her clit with my thumb. Slow ones - I drag it out this time - while continuing to pump my fingers. She's already so wet from everything else, and by the way she's stretching and fidgeting, I can tell it feels good. When it feels good, she can't keep still. It's like she's trying to wriggle out of her own body.

When she gets close, she overlaps my hand with both of hers and whimpers loudly, high voice cutting through the darkness of the room as she clamps her thighs shut tight. She traps my hand as it works, thrusting deep while manipulating that little bundle of nerves, and when she comes, she lets me know with a long, pitchy moan.

"Oh, Jackson," she sighs, flipping over once I pull out. She winds her arms and legs around me and rests her head on my chest, content. "Mmm…"

"Yeah?" I say.

She nods slowly, breathing deep. I smile to myself and draw shapes on the round of her shoulder, wondering what happens next. If she's up for it, I'm willing to go again. But by the looks of it, she's tired out. She's already falling asleep.

"I love you," I say, this time so she'll hear.

"I love you, too, Jackson," she murmurs, already most of the way gone. "So much."

…

I lie there with April for a while, soaking up her presence and the smell of sex left over in the room. But I realize, before long, that I'm not tired and sleep won't come anytime soon. I'm too wound up.

All my tossing and turning was disturbing her, so I did my best to slip quietly out of bed and change into sweats. I leave the door open when I head downstairs, so she'll know I left. Interrupting my beeline for the screen door and the shore, though, my mother's voice appears from the couch.

"Son," she says.

I jump and hold my chest, rattled. "Jesus, mom," I say. "You scared the shit out of me."

She laughs softly. "Sorry."

I stop walking and look back at her. She's sitting in the near-darkness with a book open on her lap, but she's staring into space instead of looking at the pages. I can't help but wonder how long she's been there, and how much she heard coming from upstairs.

"You should sit," she says, gesturing towards the free end of the couch.

I don't bother with fighting her. I sit and rest one ankle on the opposite knee, leaned back, body open. Mom takes one look at me and rolls her eyes lightly, shoulders bouncing with laughter.

"What?" I say.

She shakes her head, a good-natured smile on her face. "You're not embarrassed in the slightest, are you?" she asks.

I know exactly what she means. We're good at reading each other's minds. "No," I say. "Why should I be?"

Mom was the one who taught me to be open about sexuality. I haven't let her down yet.

"You shouldn't be," she says, but the smile disappears when she finishes her thought. "But I want to make sure you're being cautious."

"I already told you," I say. "I have condoms. We used one."

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "That's not what I mean," she says. "I mean cautious as in, April isn't like the other girls you've been with. She's different, honey. She's more fragile. She's… unlike anything you or I have ever experienced. She come from a very different life, with very different thought processes."

"I know that," I say, maybe a bit snappily. "And we talked through that before we did it. She wanted to. She-"

"I didn't say anything about consent," she says. "I know you're a good man. But the way she interprets all this might not be exactly what you expect. You need to remember that."

I brush the comment off. She doesn't know April like I do.

"But it is wonderful to see you in love," she adds.

I don't have a response, but it's for a totally different reason. I could talk about sex all day long, but the topics of romance and love make me shy away. I don't know why they're so hard for me to handle - especially with my mom. With April, I could do it. But with her, I could do just about anything. Talking about those things feels off-limits with my mom, though. Like if I talk about mine and April's relationship too much, it could be tainted. That's the last thing I want.

So, I just shrug and say, "Yeah."

"You're different," she muses. "She's changed you."

I can't see it in myself, but I don't doubt she's right. I still don't know what to say, though.

We spent a moment in silence, then she says, "The University of Chicago called again." I grunt in response. "They looked over your transcripts and SAT scores for a second time. They're still very impressed. They wanted to remind you of the scholarship offer and hoped you had an answer for them."

"I already gave an answer," I say, staring at my feet. "I'm not going."

She sighs, long and vehement.

"I said that before I left," I say. "I don't know why you're bringing it back up. It's done, it's over."

"It's not," she says. "If not UC, then where? Northwestern? DePaul? Loyola?"

I shake my head, shoulders growing tense. "No," I say. "Nowhere."

"'Nowhere' isn't an option," she says. "What is your reasoning here, Jackson? Why are you letting your potential go to waste? Can't you see you're making a huge mistake?"

"Whatever," I say, standing. "You only said April's changed me so I would tell you what you wanna hear. I'm not going to college. I don't wanna fuckin' go. I told you that months ago."

"I won't let you go back and roam those streets," she says. "That cannot and will not happen."

"No one said anything about - Jesus Christ," I say, massaging my temples. "I'm going back to bed."

"I'm not done talking about this, young man," she says.

"Yeah, well I am," I say, then stalk off without so much as a glance over my shoulder.

I walk back to my room and gently shut the door, looking at the bed to find April still completely naked - the sheet wrapped around her waist with one leg sticking out - lying on her stomach. I climb in beside her after stripping down to my boxers, and prop myself up on an elbow just to watch her for a moment. I trail my fingers down her spine and flatten my hand on the small of her back, then lean forward and kiss her hair.

She's the one good thing that I've got.


	10. Chapter 10

**APRIL**

For the second time in my life, I wake up with Jackson beside me. Unlike the first time, though, this instance was purposeful. But as purposeful as it was, I'm still not used to it.

I'm used to my small twin bed at home in my drafty room, the stiff sheets patterned with little flowers. I'm used to my thin pillow, wool blanket folded at the bottom, and wooden bed posts. Every morning, I wake up with my arms curled into my chest, one hand under my cheek, and my knees drawn up. I never wake up tucked against a body alive with heat, both of us nearly naked.

I'm completely naked. He's not all the way there, given he's wearing boxers. But just under his boxers is a bulge that I recognize now, and it's persistent. It's pressing tight against my butt, and his arms are all over me. One is under my head - I'm using it as a makeshift pillow - and the other is slung low on my hips. I'm turned just right so his hand grazes the private spot between my thighs - just slightly, just fingertips. But it's enough.

I adjust a bit to move his fingers away. I'm not sure how their touch makes me feel. Not violated, not in the slightest, but I want my space now. I'm so used to being solitary, and the past twenty-four hours have been an overload of contact. Romantic, physical, emotional; I've gotten it all.

I've gotten so much more than I bargained for this summer. This summer was supposed to be spent finishing school and earning my diploma. It was supposed to be spent quietly with Matthew studying the bible in church and outside it. It was not supposed to be spent wrapped in a tattooed boy's arms at his lake house with cut hair, shaved legs, and absent virginity.

I can't stay in bed any longer. The room is hot with stagnant air, and there's a certain scent lingering that I can't place. My thoughts are overwhelming and making me more fidgety than I'd like to admit. If I keep still another moment, I might explode.

So, as carefully as I can, I unwind myself from him. I start off by lifting his heavy arm off to inch it back towards his body - and as I do so, he doesn't stir. After I'm free of it, I slink out from under the covers and feel the draft hit my skin, so I look for something to wear as quick as I can. I come across the pajama set discarded on the floor and deem it good enough, then step into the shorts.

"Mmm…" Jackson groans, and I freeze. "Kitty… where're y'going?"

My forehead wrinkles with concentration and worry. I know I don't have to feel nervous, it's not like I'm in trouble for being caught, but it feels that way. I'm so used to being punished for every little thing I do; it's not an easy mindset to escape.

"I… um," I stammer. "I can't sleep."

"Come back to bed," he says, but his eyes don't open. "We can cuddle."

"I…" I trail off again. "I have to go to the bathroom."

A lie. Why did I lie to him? My gut sinks with a heavy, sick feeling. He's the one person who I thought I'd never lie to. I shake my head when it dawns on me that there are a lot of people I swore I'd never lie to. I always go back on my promises. What kind of person am I, really? I can't stay loyal to anyone.

I leave the bedroom silently as Jackson drifts off again. I listen as his breathing slows and his body grows slack in the state it had been in, and after grabbing my notebook, I let the door stay open to avoid the sound of it closing.

I descend the stairs with quiet feet. The house is still cool and purple from the night - it hasn't quite woken up yet; everything is calm. Inside, I feel the exact opposite, though. I'm jumpy and prickling with nervous energy. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I know it's a lot.

I have to pass through the living room on the way outside, and the sound of the TV comes from inside it. I pause before entering, wondering if it would be smarter to just go back upstairs, when I hear Catherine speak.

"April?" she calls, very softly. "You don't have to stand there outside the door. Come in, sweetheart."

Taught to do as I'm told, I step forward into her line of sight. She's wearing pajamas and a robe, watching TV with the volume very low. I stand rigid with my hands clasped at my waist, twisting my fingers nervously.

"What are you doing up so early?" she asks.

I shrug one shoulder and avoid her eyes. I can't seem to look at them. They remind me too much of Jackson's; not necessarily the color, but the shape and the expression inside. Like she's trying to see right through and read my mind. I don't want my mind read right now. I want to be alone with my sins.

"Couldn't sleep," I mutter, words tumbling onto the rug instead of towards Catherine.

"You're welcome to join me," she says. "I don't know what's on, but I'm sure we could find something. I don't do much sleeping myself."

"I-I…" I stutter. "That's okay. I was just… I was just going to sit out on the porch and-and… and think for a while. And…" I hold up the notebook. "And write, if that's okay."

Her face softens. "Of course it's okay," she says. "You don't have to get permission from me."

"Okay," I say, but I can't help lingering. I'm not used to being allowed to do things of my own accord.

"Go on, then," she says lightly, nodding me along. "Come inside for breakfast in a bit."

I give her a curt smile and continue on my way. When I open the screen door, the air isn't warm but it isn't cool, either. It's a nice wake-up and it makes me feel cleaner than I did before, more untouched now. I know Jackson's fingerprints are still all over me, but the ocean breeze washes them away. God's touch makes me pure again.

I shouldn't have gone along with what we did. I shouldn't have had sex with him. I should still be a virgin right now; I should still be at _home_ right now. This is no place for me. I've made so many mistakes. I've let so many people down; and most importantly, I've let down God.

I'll be punished for what I did, not only by God but from my mother, too. I've come to expect it. Her hand will come down hard when we return. I won't be surprised if she gets physical with me, though she never has before. She will be so angry, and with due right. I've gone behind her back and betrayed our family and everything she's taught us. I'm, once again, the disappointment of our family. She should lock me away for good. That way, I could never do something like this again.

It shouldn't have felt as amazing as it did. I shouldn't have let myself feel all those things for him. I never should've told him I loved him. Because do I, really? Do I even know what love is, or was I just caught up in all the new feelings he gave me?

I lean forward and place my head in my hands. I can't tell up from down anymore. I thought I could trust my emotions, but now my instincts tell me to do the exact opposite. Jackson _did_ make me feel good - physically and mentally. He built me up. He told me I was beautiful, and he saw me for who I thought I was.

But he took something from me; something I've cherished my entire life. My purity and closeness to God, the promise I made Him. Now, it's gone. Tossed out the window. Disappeared when Jackson's body sunk inside mine for the first time last night, between the sheets we shared.

I should be disgusted with myself for the promises I've broken, and I am. I'm disgusted because of the way I've lied and betrayed my family's trust. But the reason I hate myself the most is because I can't force myself to denounce how phenomenal he made my body feel. He knew exactly what he was doing, and made sure I felt good. He thought of me throughout the whole thing. That has to mean he's a good person, right?

Good people can do bad things though. Like join a gang. Like take someone's virginity.

I blink hard against the early morning sun and pull out the notebook I haven't written in lately. Ever since Jackson and I became an item, it's faded to the recesses of my mind. I haven't needed it, because he became my personal diary. That can't be healthy, though. I can't depend on him like that anymore. I used to be so self-sufficient. I knew exactly what I needed to survive and how to take care of myself - and it wasn't much. Now, I lean on him for everything, and I'm constantly thinking about what he needs. That isn't good. That isn't what God wants. I'm not his wife. I have to stop acting like I am.

If I were his wife, though, what we did last night would be the furthest thing from a sin. But as idealistic as that thought is, it isn't true. We're barely boyfriend and girlfriend. We shouldn't have had sex. It was wrong, and it was a sin. I'll be punished, and so will he. In his own way.

As I open the notebook, I try and clear my mind so I can write concisely. As I flip through, I come across the silly list I had written upon Jackson's arrival at the farm. I can't look at it now. It seems immature and stupid.

I avert my eyes from the vapid poems I wrote about him, like some lovesick little girl. That's what I was, I come to realize. I was pathetic. I can't be like that anymore. He made me feel good, but that's it. He also led me to carnal sin. I'm not a lustful person, that's not who I am. And he turned me into that. He's to blame for my fall from grace. I should've obeyed those rules I set for myself, I know that now. I shouldn't have given him a second glance.

He ruined me. By showing me things I never would have seen without him, he wrecked me and everything I've ever been.

I poise the tip of the pencil on the page and try to think of something to say, but nothing comes. It's like there's a block in my brain, preventing any poetry. Usually, it's so easy. I barely have to try. But now, there lies an empty well, devoid of any meaningful words.

I press down hard and the lead cracks, creating a jagged prick of graphite in its place. I manage to scratch down one phrase and one phrase only, but I'm not sure who it's directed towards.

 _I hate you._

…

I stay out on the porch even though I get cold. I'm not dressed in much and my legs have goosebumps all over them, and I catch the stares of a handful of male runners that pass by. The feeling of their eyes on me makes me cringe, and I can't look back. I look towards the slatted wood floor instead and wrap my arms tighter around my legs, staying quiet until the slider comes open and Jackson appears.

I look briefly toward the sound, but turn my head away when I realize who it is. My stomach jumps with anxiety. I don't know how to face him after all the thoughts that have rushed through my mind this morning.

"Hey, baby," he says. He rubs his arms given he's still shirtless against the crisp breeze. "It's cold out here. Wanna come in?"

I don't respond. I stare ahead, eyes cemented on the lake.

"Mom's making pancakes," he says. "Ever had those before?"

"Of course I have," I snap, under my breath.

"Oh," he says, then shifts his weight from foot to foot. "Didn't know. But… do you wanna come in?"

"No," I say. "I'm fine here."

"Breakfast'll be ready pretty soon."

"I'm not really hungry," I state.

He gives me an odd look. I don't need to see him to know. I can feel how confused he is, but tell myself it's not my job to fix it. I have to stop worrying about him. The reason I got into this mess is because I let him take over my head. I won't let that happen again.

"You okay?" he asks, stepping closer. He drops a kiss atop my head and I stay rigid, not spurning his affection but not accepting it, either. "You're… off, or something."

"I'm fine," I say.

"You don't seem fine," he says. "What's wrong, kitty? Did my mom say something to you?"

"No," I say. "I just… I'm fine, Jackson. I just don't feel very well, that's all. My… it's my stomach."

"Oh," he says. "There's medicine inside, I think. I can get you some Pepto."

"No," I say again. "I just want to sit here." I turn and make pointed eye contact with him. "I want to be alone."

His expression crumbles at the words and my chest shatters. I try not to show it, though. We can't be close anymore. I can't turn into the girl who spirals and can't find her way back to God. God is all I've ever known. Who am I without Him? Who am I if I've betrayed Him? I'm no one. I can't stomach the thought of losing everything in place of something that will inevitably fall through when the summer ends.

I have to trust what I know. I know Jesus. I've been around Jackson for less than two months. God can give me everything, and that's a promise that will always go unbroken. What's a human promise in comparison to one of His?

"Geez, okay," he says, then scratches the back of his neck. He turns to walk inside, but then looks back with one hand pressed to the sliding glass door. "Is this about last night?" he asks.

My shoulders tense. I follow the cresting waves with my eyes. I'm not sure how to respond - tell the truth or keep it bottled up like always?

I decide not to open my mouth at all, and he gets tired of standing there and waiting for me to answer. He sighs after a while, then pulls the door open.

"Come in when you're ready, I guess," he says. "I'm not really sure how to help you."

The door closes behind him and every muscle in my upper body loosens. I let my head fall forward into my hands, and the sobs come freely once I'm alone.

…

As we pack up and get ready to leave, the air in the house is icy. Jackson isn't talking to Catherine for reasons I'm unaware of, and I'm not saying much of anything. When we're in his room together alone, though, he takes another chance.

"What's bothering you?" he asks. "Will you just talk to me? I don't know why you're ignoring me."

I take a shirt out of the dresser, refold it, and put it back in. I'd never be able to wear it at home without scrutiny. It has to stay here, and I'll never see it again. I run one hand over the fabric and close the drawer - the rest of the clothes inside will suffer the same fate.

"I'm not ignoring you," I say.

"Don't lie," he says. "It's not cute. Just spit it out."

I blink hard, hot tears threatening to spill over the edge. I do my best not to let them, though, looking towards the ceiling to keep them at bay.

"Are you upset over what we did?" he asks, a second time. "Are you freaking out that we had sex?"

My face scrunches up hearing the actual word. "Stop," I hiss. I meant for my voice to sound more powerful, but it doesn't come across that way.

"I'm right, aren't I?" he says, tone clipped.

"Jackson," I say.

"If you're upset, we should talk about it," he says.

"I don't want to," I say, waving my hands haphazardly. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?" he says, coming closer with a rumpled shirt that he was about to shove into his backpack.

"I just don't," I say, pulling up the zipper of my bag. "I just want to go home."

"What changed?" he says. "What happened? You said you wanted to do it last night. It was your fuckin' idea, April!"

"Don't yell at me," I say, cowering. I flinch against his hulking frame, and he backs off. "Please. I want to leave."

"I just need you to talk to me," he says. "We can fix this. I can make this better. I just need to know what you're thinking."

I shake my head tersely, lips pinched. If I keep up with this expression, the wrinkles will surely stick.

"Talk to me, kitty," he says, voice growing softer. "Come on. I'll listen."

"I don't want to talk to you!" I say, face growing hot. "I want Jesus. That's who I want to talk to. And I can't."

Jackson squints. "Why? What are you talking about? Why can't you talk to Him?"

I throw my backpack over my shoulder and move towards the door, ready to storm out. "Because He hates me for what I did," I say. "What we did."

"April, come on," he says. "I asked you if you wanted it a million times. You said yes every time. You can't really-"

"It was a mistake," I spit, tears streaming down my face. "It was a mistake, Jackson. And I want to go home."

…

In the car, I keep my face turned towards the window so neither Jackson nor Catherine see me crying. The tears come fast and hot, but I wipe them away as subtly as I can. I don't want Catherine asking what's wrong, though I'm sure she already noticed the tense silence. It's coming at her from all sides.

With the risk of sounding crazy, I start whispering to myself. I make sure it's quiet, I don't want any questions asked, but I need this right now.

"You are my hiding place; You will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance," I whisper. "Psalm 32: 7-8."

I rub my eyes hard. I'm exhausted; it feels like I didn't sleep last night, though I got plenty of rest.

"It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; He will not fail you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed. Deuteronomy 33:27."

I wind my fingers together and twist them until the knuckles pop. I stare at my bare arms soaked in sunlight, and my eyes catch on one of the first things Jackson noticed about me: the group of freckles in the shape of a 'J.'

I squeeze my eyes shut tight and shake my head forcefully. No, no, no.

"In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength. Isaiah 30:15." I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Isaiah 30:15. Isaiah 30:15."

"What was that, sweetheart?" Catherine asks, peering in the rearview mirror much in the way she had when we first pulled away from the farm. "Did you say something?"

Immediately, I duck my chin and shake my head. "No," I mutter.

I lean my head against the window after that and take to simply mouthing the verses. I recite every strengthening phrase that comes to mind, eyes closed, lips moving fluidly and quickly as the words run together in a puddle of faux-courage that leaks and drips to the floor.

A while later, Jackson jostles my shoulder and startles me to consciousness. I blink hard, having almost been asleep, but not quite there.

"Hey," he murmurs, then tips his head to one side. "You wanna…?" He nods towards his shoulder, where I had rested on the way here and been so comfortable.

"No," I say, and my voice comes out firm. I don't know how I expected it to sound, but it wasn't like that. He makes a confused face that transforms into an expression of pain a second later. I've hurt him.

But not as badly as he's hurt me.

"No, thank you," I whisper, and rest my head against the jostling window again and shut my eyes. I won't let myself touch him, I won't let myself be soothed by him, and I won't let him close to me again. I won't, and I can't. I can't do that to myself again.

I owe that much to my mother and Jesus.

…

When the gravel crunches under the tires of the fancy car I've been riding in for hours, my stomach is in knots. My whole body is sweating and the tips of my fingers have gone numb. My mother waits on the porch, flanked by all three of my sisters. Her face is set in a rock-hard scowl, arms folded across her chest, and her eyes are dead.

Alice's smile makes up for everyone else's frowns, though. I wish I could reciprocate, but with Mom's eyes on me like they are, it's impossible. As soon as I get out of this car, I'm finished. She'll see my hair and know my secrets and everything that happened. I'm convinced she'll see through me and know I'm not a virgin anymore. She'll be able to read it in my eyes.

And if she doesn't, will I be able to lie to her? Should I? To protect myself, should I weave yet another web that might be impossible to find my way out of?

I'm shaking when the car finally stops. Catherine takes a moment to look back, assumedly ready to offer advice, but I don't meet her eyes. I don't want it. Whatever punishment my mother has ready, I deserve it.

I can't help but glance over at Jackson, though. He isn't looking at me; he's staring ahead with his jaw clenched, neck veins bulging. I've never seen him so full of emotion, and I'm not sure how to handle it. I know it's because of me. I feel awful, but then remind myself how much pain he's forcing me to feel, too.

As my mind becomes clouded with thoughts of him, I inevitably travel to the night before. The night before, when we were tangled up in each other, making love, when I was crying out his name. When his body was buried inside mine and making me feel things I discovered only recently. When he told me he loved me, and when I said it back.

How I meant it. How I still mean it. But I also know it's wrong to feel these things. I'll go to Hell because of it if I don't stop now.

With my eyes on him, Jackson storms out of the car with his backpack in tow. I watch through the windshield as he stomps down the driveway towards the shed, eventually disappearing inside it. When I look back to my family, I notice no one else watched him go.

I wrap my fingers around the handle and brace myself, tepidly breathing as I lick my lips and stare at my hand. I have to do it. I have to go out there. There's no other option.

So, I push open the door wearing the outfit I left in. My mother's eyes burn into me as I come up the walk, and I keep my head bowed. I can't look her in the eye. Not only am I afraid, but she'll be upset if I do. I don't want to do anything that seems like a challenge.

"Sissy!" Alice cheers, and her footsteps come closer before they're stopped. When I look up, I see Mom grabbed her wrist and kept her back.

"All of you," Mom barks. "In the house. Now."

No one questions her, not even Alice. I feel my youngest sister's eyes on me, but I don't meet them. That'll just be trouble for both of us.

"Karen," Catherine says, approaching. "She-"

"Thank you for your hospitality, Catherine," Mom says, coldly. Colder than I've ever heard. "But it'd be best if you left now."

But Catherine stands firm, unmoving. My mother takes me by the elbow and holds tight, fingernails digging into my skin. I resist the urge to cry out, but I can't help my wince. As soon as I flinch, though, she slices me deeper. I knew she would.

"Karen, it's just a haircut," Catherine says. "Please. Consider what you're doing."

"I've fully considered it," she growls. "And you have no right to tell me how to parent my daughter or to make decisions for her. I offered your son a place to stay out of the kindness of my heart. I did not offer up my daughter to be groomed and preened for the eyes of men!"

She grabs me even tighter, if possible. My lips part and a soundless whimper escapes. Catherine sees, my mother doesn't.

"You know what happens-" Mom cuts herself off with a violent shake of the head. Her face has gone crimson, teeth bared. "No! No!" She waves an arm almost as if to act as an invisible forcefield in front of us both. "I want you off my property. The boy can stay, or he can go. I don't care. But you will not step foot near my April again."

I cower, leaning into my mother almost as if to be protected from her rage by her rage. She wraps a solid arm around me and pulls me closer - but with no warmth. She holds me for power, to show Catherine she still has me, to show her whatever liberation I've experienced did not stick.

"Leave," she orders again.

Catherine gives her a hard stare. She's probably the only person who's not afraid of my mother, and I admire her for that. Being brazen and unafraid is brave, but stupid. She has plenty of reason to be afraid. I've been taught to be afraid. Being meek and mild is important. If I had stayed that way, I wouldn't be in this mess.

"You know exactly what you're doing to her, Karen Morgan."

Mom flinches. I put two and two together and deduce that 'Morgan' must have been the name Catherine knew her under. Her maiden name.

"And that makes it even worse. Take a moment to look at your little girl. She isn't a child anymore. You can't keep her in this bubble forever," Catherine continues.

"Tell me I can't," Mom says, clutching me still. "Leave, before I call the police."

Catherine doesn't open her mouth again, but she throws one last look at my mother that chills me to the bone. She doesn't need to say anything - her eyes speak louder. She walks to the car, gets in, and makes eye contact with me for a split second. Her gaze is laced with emotion - despair, guilt, anger, pleading - but I give in to nothing. I am my mother's daughter. No matter what Catherine told me before, no matter what she made me believe, that's what I am. My mother created me, I grew inside her belly. She suffered a horrible trauma when she was my age. Who am I to take that away? Who am I to disobey? I momentarily forgot where my loyalties lie, but now, standing next to the woman who gave me life, I feel like a traitor. I lied and sinned, all for what? Because it felt good? And that's supposed to be enough?

"Mama," I whimper, once the car door shuts and Catherine backs out of the driveway. We stand in utter silence, left only in each other's company. I feel horrible for what I've done. I'll do anything it takes to repent, to build myself back up in her eyes.

She turns to face me and lets go of my arm, only to take a fistful of my hair instead. "What did you do?" she bellows. "Whose idea was this to cut off your beautiful hair?"

Do I lie? Do I tell the truth? Put on the spot, I don't know which will get me into deeper trouble. Catherine meant well, but her words led me astray.

"It's all gone," she says. "It's so short. Your womanly grace has disappeared. Where is your femininity? Where is your glory to God in how He created you? You've cut it all off. You went behind my back and chopped it."

"I'm sorry, Mom," I say, head bowed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Did she make you do it?" she demands.

I tremble, the quiver beginning at my fingertips and spreading throughout my limbs. It's pure, bodily fear.

"April Olivia, was this your idea or hers?" She takes pause for a moment as another idea dawns on her. "Or was it his?"

"It wasn't Jackson," I say, leaping to protect him though I have no idea why. I can't stomach the thought of my mother going after him like she is me right now. No matter how he's confounded me, he doesn't deserve that. No one deserves it but me. "It was me. It was my idea. I asked, and I was shown where to go. It was me. It was my fault."

She takes a step back and scrutinizes my appearance, seemingly disgusted by it. "Who are you?" she asks. "One trip outside the farm and you disappoint me so. This isn't like you April. What has gotten into you?"

I shake my head, eyes on the warped wood of the porch. I don't know how to answer, so I decide my safest bet is silence.

The air changes as she cranes her neck to try and catch my eye. I know better than to look at her, though. Meek and mild, meek and mild, that's what I need to remember. As much trouble as I'm in right now, it would only get worse if I were combative.

"He touched you, didn't he," Mom snarls. She grabs my shoulders with both hands and jostles them so my head bounces once. "Did you let him touch you? Did you allow him to bed you and take your purity, April?"

She's screaming now, her voice risen to the breaking point, and I start to cry. I don't know what to say or how to respond. Her hands are all over me, manhandling me roughly in a way Jackson would never touch me. He was gentle, showed me kindness, doted on my every need when we came together. He saw me. But I sinned with him.

And I'm about to sin again. One last time.

I open my mouth to respond, to lie, and she slaps me. Out of nowhere, her hand flies across my cheek and leaves me stunned, folded to the side, holding the stinging side of my face. She's never laid a hand on me before, and I had forgotten to expect it.

"No, mom!" I shriek, crumpling while trying to resist defense. If I put my hands up, she'll only rip them down and hit me again. "He didn't touch me, he didn't do anything! I don't know what you're talking about. Please, mama. All I did was cut my hair. Please, please, please… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry, please forgive me, I'm so sorry."

She gives me a scornful look, one that I wish I could permanently erase from memory. But once it sets in, the complete opposite effect takes hold. That look sears behind my eyelids and makes an imprint. I know when I try and fall asleep later, I'll see it in flashes.

"It's not my forgiveness you have to worry about," she barsk. "It's God's."

I rest my chin against my chest, her loyal, dutiful servant. His loyal servant, just as well. Even more so.

"I'll do anything," I mutter, staring at my feet and dingy shoes. I can't help but feel the tug deep in my stomach, longing for the flip flops I wore on the beach. I can practically still hear the slapping sound they made as I walked.

I remember the smell of sunscreen, the sweet spark of ice cream on my tongue, and the sun beating down on my bare shoulders. I remember how tiny my shorts were, the way Jackson's hand felt in mine out in public, and how carefully he dragged the razor up my legs.

One of two things my mother still has no idea about.

I still feel his fingers gliding over my skin, still feel the sturdiness of his groin under my thighs and, in his words, feel 'sand in places I didn't want it.' I still feel his lips and tongue in the most intimate place, his hands on my breasts, and his body moving inside mine.

I shake my head to clear it. Those thoughts have to go away and leave me. Leave me forever.

Jolted back to reality, my mother drops a cracked rubber band into my palm. "Put it up," she orders. "And out of sight. I don't want to see your sin any longer."

I nod, carrying out her order straight away. I put my hair into a modest bun at the base of my skull, low and unassuming.

"Good," she says. "Now, get up to your room. I don't want to see your face."

Without waiting or questioning, I turn and keep my eyes downcast while walking through the front door. My sisters all stand right there, but they scatter as soon as I appear. Alice reaches out, but her grip on me is weak. She lets her hand fall away, realizing that now isn't the time. I don't know when 'the time' will be. I'm not sure when, if ever, I'll be allowed out of my room.

But I go. Alone, up the stairs, to a place I know. I disappear into the nest that I've had to make my sanctuary, given no other choice. It's here or nowhere.

I drop to my knees and pray as soon as the door closes. I squeeze my eyes shut and clasp my fingers together so hard the knuckles strain and turn white. I mouth the words but say nothing aloud - I don't have the energy for that.

I get into bed after being on my knees for a long time. I don't bother to change into pajamas. I don't deserve the comfort. Instead, I stare, wide-eyed and unblinking, at the wall inches from my face with only one thought crossing my mind.

I wish he'd never come to the farm. I wish I'd never met him. That way, I wouldn't know the white-hot, debilitating, unimaginable pain of losing him.


	11. Chapter 11

**JACKSON**

I slam the door to the shed and throw my backpack full force against the nearest wall. It knocks against the surface and thuds to the floor to land on its side, and I kick it with all my might after taking a few steps forward.

"Fucking idiot," I mutter, voice full of rage and venom. I kick it again, and it slides under the bed. I let it stay there - nothing inside it matters much. A few articles of clothing, underwear, deodorant. Nothing of importance.

What really matters, anyway? Everything good I had is now gone. Taken without my consent, ripped from my hands while I tried to hold it close and keep it safe. I thought I was keeping her safe. I thought what happened between us was what she wanted. Had it not been what she wanted?

She said yes. She was the one who initiated it. Then why is she acting the way she is? I did nothing to violate her. I asked for her consent over and over again. Then why, on the inside, do I feel so disgusting?

I feel guilty, and I know I shouldn't. I didn't force her to do anything. But the look on her face when I found her on the porch in the early morning told me differently - it was full of blame and anger, all directed towards me.

I'm used to being on people's bad sides; it was even like that with April when I first arrived. But this time is different. This time, the look in her eyes made me feel evil and manipulative, when I know for a fact I'm nothing of the sort. I would've never pushed her further than where she was comfortable. She made all the decisions, and that was purposeful on my part. Because I knew that if she didn't, it might come back to bite her.

It looks like that happened anyway, even with my careful planning.

I thought she had enjoyed it. With the way she reacted - vocally, physically, emotionally - it would seem that way. It seemed like she was all in. She was smiling, sighing, orgasming, telling me she loved me. What changed?

I stand up off the bed and pace the small space between the two walls. It was all too much for her to handle. The haircut, the shaving, the great big world, and the sex. It was a huge dose of real life, and she took too big of a sip. Now, she's choking on everything that could be and everything, in her mind, that never will be.

I know she doesn't think she can get off this farm. This fucking farm, where everything is wrong and backwards and no one thinks for themselves. Her mom ruined our relationship for her, for us, by infiltrating her thoughts. If it was any other situation, we'd be just fine right now. If her mom didn't control her like a marionette, I'd be looking forward to seeing her tonight and having sex with her again.

That thought niggles in the back of my mind and roots itself there like a parasite. I'd give anything to sleep with her again - not only for the bodily aspect, but for the mindful one, too. We connected on such a deep level that I've never experienced before, not with a single other girl I've fucked. I knew April was different in other ways, but that fact only solidified it for me.

But maybe I was stupid to think she was the one. She won't let herself be anything for me. All she wants is Jesus.

There's no reason the two of us can't coexist, though. I know of a lot of modern, open-minded Christians. But she isn't familiar with that sect of the religion. All she knows is the kind of Christians that shame you for getting a haircut and treat sex like a disease. What kind of parents don't teach 18-year-old how babies are made?

Cruel and sick ones, that's who. That's what her parents are. What they're doing to her is borderline abuse, and April has Stockholm Syndrome. It's so obvious, it's staring me in the face. If she'd listen to me, I'd tell her. But she won't hear a word I say, not now, not anymore.

She could get off the farm if she wasn't raised to be so scared of what might happen when she did. Whenever I would talk about the concept of us leaving together, I saw something in her eyes. She would never refute me outright, but she wouldn't totally go along with what I was saying, either. She's already resigned. She shoves down the fight inside her in order to go along with what her family has taught her: complacency.

That's no way to live. I kick the wall and ignore the pain shooting up my leg because of it, then kick it again.

"Fuckin' stupid Jesus camp!" I shout, repeatedly kicking the same spot.

I wouldn't be so angry if she didn't make me feel so much. One look, and I'm done for. When she catches my eye and gives me that sparkly expression that I know is meant just for me, I'm a goner. If she knew nothing would come of it, why did she have to make me fall in love with her?

I grit my teeth and shake my head roughly, which makes my curls bounce. I should've gotten a haircut when we were away, too, but I'd been distracted. I don't like it when my hair gets this long; I don't feel like myself. And myself is the one person I can count on to be some form of reliable.

I open the desk drawer in the far corner of the room, a piece of furniture I haven't bothered with yet. I shuffle through the junk items until I find a rusty, old pair of scissors, then chop off my kinks and spirals without even looking in a mirror. A few months ago, I would've died before doing something like that, but now I don't care. It keeps the sweat off my neck and the hair out of my eyes. One less thing to worry about, and I already have enough on my plate as it is.

I throw the scissors across the room when I'm done with them and they slide to a halt in front of the door. I plop to the ground, back against the wall, and rest my open palms on my knees, staring ahead at nothing.

As I'm staring, I see a small, square shape under the dresser that I remember putting there a while ago - my half-empty pack of cigarettes. I crawl over on my hands and knees and fish it out, then see that I have five left.

"Thank fuck," I say, then dig for my lighter in the bottom drawer of the dresser. I'd hidden that, too.

I crack open the screenless window and sit on the floor next to it, feeling the rush when I light my first cigarette in weeks. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm addicted, but it is a comfort habit. When I put it to my lips and inhale, I'm calmed by the act. And not only that, I feel a bit of sick satisfaction, too. April hates when I smoke. This is sort of a 'fuck you' to her and the way she brushed me off so callously.

I smoke all five, one right after the other. My throat is raw and my chest burns after I'm done, but physical pain is openly welcomed in place of the stupid ass emotional ache.

Love sucks. Love fucking sucks. I wish I would've never come to this farm and met her, so she would've never had the chance to break my stupid fucking heart.

…

I stay up all night not because I want to, but because I can't sleep. And it isn't because my mind is too busy or I'm too sad or any of that shit, it's because I realized that after sleeping beside April, I can't sleep alone. How fucking pathetic is that.

So, because I got so little rest, the knocking doesn't wake me right away. It begins in the recesses of my mind and filters forward as I come closer to consciousness, and even then I'm confused.

With my eyes still closed, I convince myself I'm dreaming. I'm so used to the knocks that they've worked their way into my subconscious and I can't stop thinking about them. They're not really there. Of course, April won't come to get me today. I doubt I'll see her again until the end of the summer, if even then. I turn around and try to get back to sleep, but it doesn't work because the knocking only gets louder.

I groan and pick up my pillow, holding it over my head to drown out the noise. When I can still hear it, though, I toss the pillow across the room in the direction of the door, but it gets nowhere near it.

"Fuck off," I grunt, but the knocking insists.

I sit up straight, rubbing my eyes as I do. I squint in the direction of the door and scratch my bare chest, wondering if it is April, why she won't just come in. Are we really on those terms now?

I repel the jittery, excited feeling in my gut as I walk towards the door. If anything, I'm looking forward to seeing her face. Maybe, as we do chores, we'll get a chance to talk. Maybe she'll let herself hear me, and I promise myself I won't blow up.

I turn the handle and open the door, prepared to be met with April's pretty eyes and a haircut. But instead, Alice stands there looking sheepish and worn.

"Hi," she peeps, her voice barely higher than the wind outside. "I… it… it's time for chores."

She sounds like April in the very beginning, falling over her words around me. But I know, in her case, it's for a much different reason.

I open my mouth to ask where her sister is despite myself, but I don't even need to get the words out before she answers the question.

"You'll be with me now," she says, folding her hands at the waist just like April does. "Mom wanted me to tell you. And come get you for chores. The stalls… they… they need cleaning. I'm not big enough."

"'Kay," I say, clenching my jaw. "I'll be out in a sec."

She nods curtly and scurries towards the barn, and I resist the urge to slam the door shut. After it's closed, I pull on a wrinkled shirt and a pair of unwashed jeans, then follow in Alice's footsteps.

She's off doing whatever she does, and I'm not sure where to start. After the two days away from this place, it feels like I've been dropped in a foreign land all over again.

"Alice," I say, calling her name to the void because I'm not sure where she is. "Is April coming out? Am I supposed to do her chores, or what?"

"My sister is staying in her room," Alice says, peering down from the hay loft and making me jump.

"Christ," I say, hand to my heart.

"So, you're in control of the stalls, the cats, and the eggs. You know how to do that, right?"

"Yeah," I grumble, rolling up my sleeves. "I'll get right on it."

First I feed the cats, who all seem to hate me. Then I gather the eggs and set the basket up high so when Libby and Kimmie come out, they don't get any urges to sabotage my work. I'm in the middle of cleaning out the horses' filthy stall when a small voice appears in the door.

"I'm finished," Alice says, avoiding eye contact.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, just like April. Everything she does seems to be just like April. I don't know how I never noticed before.

"Good for you," I say, shoveling another load of manure into the wheelbarrow.

She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing happens. She just lets the little sound linger in midair, not doing much of anything. Her gaze falls to her shoes, and something in my chest splinters. None of them have any self-confidence or self-worth. I wonder if anyone's ever told this little girl in all her life that she matters.

"Bet you're good at this," I say, shrugging.

She raises her eyebrows, looking at me for only a moment before darting away again. "Stalls? No," she says, shaking her head. "I'm not strong enough."

"Bah," I say. "You got farm muscles. You all do."

"You have big muscles," she says, pointing in my direction. Then, she whips her hand down. "Sorry. It's impolite to point," she murmurs.

"I don't care," I say. "Hey. You wanna try? You might show me up."

"I-I wouldn't," she says. "I'm little. I can't."

"'Can't' is a curse word," I say. "Just as bad as 'shit' or 'fuck.' It's proven."

Her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. She's probably never heard those words in her life, and I just corrupted her. I can't help but laugh. I've made it my mission to corrupt the two good Kepner sisters.

"Just come on over," I say. "Give it a whirl. If you end up getting shit everywhere, you can blame me." I mutter the next part under my breath. "Everyone seems to do that anyway."

Alice steps inside the stall, her tiny feet finding clean places to land. She reaches for the shovel and I give it to her, and she scoops up a big lump and heaves it into the wheelbarrow among the rest. When she's finished, she looks at me with pride written all over her face, beaming.

"I did it!" she says. "I never tried. But I did it!"

"One more," I say. "Unless you wanna do it all."

"No," she says, giggling. "But I can do one more."

She takes a big scoop and plops it in, laughing with glee once she's done. "I'm really strong!" she cheers.

"You are," I say, taking the shovel back. "Good job."

She stands next to me and watches me finish, breathless. She doesn't say much, but the mood has lightened. The air between us has cleared. She's no longer afraid of me, and I know better than to take my frustration for her sister out on her. She's just a little kid.

Once the stall is finished, I grab the basket of eggs and Alice still trails after me like a shadow. Libby and Kimmie are off doing their own thing, I'm not sure what it is, but I don't care.

"You doing okay?" I ask Alice, looking over while we walk. We aren't headed much of anywhere, just strolling aimlessly.

"Yes," she says, wringing the cloth of her skirt in her hands.

"That's good," I say, then itch my head. "Uh, how about everyone else?"

She looks over to the pig's enclosure, where Libby and Kimmie are feeding them slop. "They're fine," she says.

"Not… them," I say, clearing my throat. "Everyone else."

"Mom and Daddy are doing good," she says. "We're on break from lessons. We get a few weeks before we start again in the fall. And Daddy's been harvesting corn."

"Awesome," I say, then rub the back of my neck. I don't want to come right out and ask, that would be too obvious. I wish she would just tell me. "And… uh…" I clear my throat again. "I don't know, who's left."

Alice stops walking and looks at me dead-on in a way that catches me off-guard. The Kepner sisters have a way of surprising me like that.

"What happened?" she asks, eyes wide and unblinking. "I know something happened. Otherwise my sister wouldn't be up in her room. She'd be out here, with you. She didn't eat dinner last night, and Mom didn't ask me to get her. Mom is pretending like she's not there, and April didn't answer when I knocked on her door. And I knocked a lot." She sighs and looks at the ground, lower lip trembling. "I want my sister back."

"Yeah…" I sigh, shaking my head slightly. "I know."

"I know you're in love," she says, and my stomach jolts. Hearing those words come out of her mouth in that high-pitched, innocent voice is a bit of a shock. "You and my sister. I know that. I once read this fairy tale book at youth group, one that wasn't supposed to be there. I don't remember what it was called. But the prince and the princess were in love, and I think that's what you guys are doing."

She scuffs the toe of her shoe in the gravel driveway, watching as a little hole appears in the dirt.

"Is that right?" she asks, question directed towards the earth.

"I…" I say, then massage my temples with one hand. The other is still busy holding the egg basket. "I don't know."

"You hurt my sister's feelings," she says, growing a bit more stern, but with the same waver present in her voice.

I press my lips tight together. I don't want to get into a deep conversation with Alice, but I'm tempted to. I want to let loose and tell her just how complex this situation is - how much April and I hurt each other, but I know I can't. She's only ten, and she doesn't deserve that weight on her shoulders. I can bear it alone. I'm used to it.

"Yeah," I say.

She scratches her cheek with one bare fingernail. "Maybe you shouldn't be in love anymore," she says, very quietly. "Maybe you shouldn't do that together anymore."

I laugh humorlessly and she looks over, wondering what's funny.

"I… yeah," I say, blinking rapidly. Suddenly, my eyes burn. "It's not exactly that easy."

"Why?" she asks.

I sigh, long and drawn-out. "Just not," I say, then pause for a long time. "It takes two people to feel that much. You know? Not just one person. And your sister… April, well, she hurt my feelings, too."

Alice's eyebrows furrow with concern. She concentrates on one large rock in the driveway and kicks at it insistently until it dislodges and rolls away.

"She… hurt _you_?" she asks, incredulous. "How?"

I shouldn't have said anything. I can't get into it. Opening that can of worms was a bad idea, but I couldn't keep that statement locked up. Looking like the sole bad guy in this situation didn't sit right with me, because it's not true. I won't let April paint me in that light.

"It's too complicated," I say. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"But you already did," she says. "So, you can't take it back. You have to tell me now."

"It's nothing," I say, then notice Karen standing in the doorway, one foot on the porch and one still inside. "Your mom wants you," I say, nodding in that direction. "Here, take the eggs."

Alice takes the handle of the basket and steps towards the house, but looks back before she can get far. There are thoughts behind her eyes, words unsaid, and I have no clue what they might be.

"Alice," Karen barks, which makes her youngest turn around with her tail tucked. She doesn't look back at me a second time.

I shove my hands into my pockets and give Karen a polite nod. I didn't so much as greet her the other day, and I know it will look bad on me if I ice her out. I'm still here on her favor, no matter how much I hate her.

"Dinner will be brought out later," she tells me. "Thank you for completing her chores."

I nod again, offering no words. Instead, all I do is turn my back and make my way to the shed.

…

Days pass that fit into the same routine. Alice wakes me up each morning with heavy knocks, and we go through chores together. But unlike the first day, we don't trade conversation anymore. I tried soon after to talk casually, but she wouldn't reciprocate. I'm sure she was told not to speak to me anymore, after Karen saw us talking.

So now, I'm completely isolated. The mornings are silent, the afternoons are boring and drag on forever, and at night I'm alone with my thoughts. If it weren't for the sun and daily routines, I'd lose track of time entirely. Nothing happens to make the hours meaningful.

With no outlet, I become angrier and angrier. I take the scissors I used on my hair and carve a notch in the wall that I make bigger every day, stabbing the same spot over and over. It's not exactly respectful to property, but it's better than doing something I'll regret later.

I do my best not to let my mind wander to April, and distractions work for the first two days. I rearrange the lacking furniture in the shed and clean the bathroom, which desperately needed it. I go for a long run around the grounds though I've never run for sport in my life. I take a swim in the pond, but have to leave before long because all I can see is her naked body illuminated by the light of the moon.

I sit outside in the quiet by myself and try to rid my mind of anything at all. It's hard at first, but refreshing once the peace finally comes. The city is too loud for any sort of meditation, but here it isn't difficult at all. It's a nice break, without all those stupid, loud thoughts running around my head, but I can only make it last for so long.

While I'm lying in bed on the third night, she sneaks into my head. I think of the 'J' shaped freckles on her arm, and how she trembled when I first touched them. I think of the lotion on our lips when we kissed as I was shaving her, and how her body felt pressed against mine right here on this floor, in front of the fireplace. I think about the sparkle in her eyes when I gave her the first cherry cordial, and the way her lips closed around my finger when I fed her. I think about how she got me on a horse, something I thought I'd never do, and how she told me she wanted a tattoo of a lighthouse just like mine. Because I was her home. That's what she had said, and I felt the same - she was my home, too. She was the first person who ever made me feel safe. And now, all that has been stripped away.

I'm not sure what time it is now, but it's not late. I keep going to bed earlier and earlier because I have nothing to do. I toss and turn and get frustrated with myself, given that sleep won't come. Tonight is the worst yet.

I have half a mind to get up, pack whatever I have left and leave this horrible place. I would storm up to that house, bang on the door until someone answered, and demand to talk to her. I don't know what I'd say, but I don't think I could leave here without speaking to her one last time. I'd want a final note, an ending, some sort of bookend to whatever we did here. She might be able to ditch me without so much as a word of apology, but I wouldn't sink that low.

Minutes might pass, or maybe hours do. I don't know how long, but it doesn't matter because I don't fall asleep. I get so antsy and pissed off that I stand up in search of my bag, but instead hear a soft, cautious knock on the door.

I furrow my eyebrows and set my mouth in a deep frown. "Go to bed, Alice," I say. "It's not safe for you to be out this late."

I get no response. I drop the backpack I'd been holding and kick it back to the place I found it.

"Alice," I say again, and this time it comes out as more of a bark.

Another long silence passes, and I wonder if I'm hearing things. Maybe it was just the trees creaking outside. I almost convince myself of that until I hear it again - three knocks in succession, gentle and full of trepidation. Those aren't Alice's knocks.

Alice booms.

April taps.

I scrub one hand over my days-old facial hair and make my way to the door after considering whether or not to just leave her out there. I decide against it, though, because I know how stubborn she is. She won't go away. She'll stand there all night, and I won't sleep. I'll lurk right inside the door, waiting for something to happen. So, I might as well make that something happen myself and get it over with now.

I open the door and find her standing there, looking smaller than before. Her hair is pulled away from her face in a messy ponytail, fraying around her face, and her puffy eyes have dark blue bags underneath them. Her lips are cracked with dryness, and her cheeks look sallow. I can't help but wonder if they've been feeding her, because it doesn't look like it.

The sight of April alone softens me, but I try not to let her effect take hold. I'm pissed, I'm angry, I'm mad as hell. I remind myself of what she did and try to hold it in place. I try my best, but I'm still stuck looking at her sallow face, sad eyes, and trembling fingers.

They hurt my baby. I hurt my baby. Either way, my baby is hurt and all I'm doing is standing here being pissed off. But I don't know what else to do.

"What," I say, meaning to sound gruff but coming off confused instead.

All she does is stand there. She barely moves. The only thing that changes is her hands, which gravitate to her waist and clasp together. Her breaths come shallow, and she stops meeting my eyes after I speak.

"April, what," I say again, this time a bit more demanding.

Still though, she doesn't respond. She doesn't even open her mouth in an attempt. All she does is stare, lips parted like a fish, a deer caught in the headlights.

"You're the one who showed up out here!" I bellow, and surprise myself with the explosion. "You can't just stand there. What do you want?"

She physically recoils, and I feel like shit. I don't know what to do with myself. She hurt me, but I don't want to hurt her - at least, more than I apparently already have. She's regressed so much, taken so many steps backward, that it looks like she might shatter from an errant gust of wind.

She starts crying then. Slowly at first, tears dripping from her eyes without any sound. Just slipping down her cheeks of their own volition, like they came from thin air. Two streaks, one from each eye, that disappear beneath her chin. After that, the sobbing starts and her breath comes with more difficulty. She stands stiff as a board and cries loudly - gasping for breath and sobbing with all she's got.

"I can't eat," she wails, not doing anything to quell her sobs or cover her face. She just cries, blatant and open, and all I can do is watch. "I can't sleep. I don't know who I am anymore."

I take a step back, thrown off. I don't know what I expected her to say, but it wasn't that. I think I expected her to yell at me, to chew me out, but I didn't expect a full breakdown. She continues to surprise me.

But still, I won't let her play the victim. She gave me the cold shoulder, not the other way around. If anyone, I should be the one spewing the waterworks right now, not her.

"And you think I do?" I say. "Know who I am, after what we did?" I shake my head forcefully and let my other foot follow the first one, and I end up kicking the scissors halfway across the room. I hadn't realized they'd ended up over here again.

"I don't know," she whispers.

"Look, I'm sorry you're messed up over this, about what we did," I say. "But I am, too. I'm not going to apologize for what _we_ did. It's not something I did to you, or that I did without your consent. You wanted it, April. You asked me. And I asked you, too, a billion times. I didn't force you. I wanted to wait until you were ready, and I swore you were. I get it if you weren't. But you have no right to take it out on me, because I did nothing wrong." My throat clogs up, but I'm not about to do something stupid like cry. "And I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen. I can't do that."

"I can't stop thinking about it," she says, voice still wobbly. "The more I try not to think about it, the more I actually do."

I take a deep breath and barely consider what I say next before it comes out. "Do you want to get married?" I ask, and her eyes double in size. "I know you wanted to be a virgin for the man you marry, I know that's kind of Jesus's thing. But…" My eyes break away from her. I don't know if I can look at her face any longer. "What if you were?"

"I…" she loses her voice and starts again. "Jackson…"

I lift my head again. "I won't apologize for us having sex," I say. "I can't. I am sorry if you think I took something from you, but you gave it to me. If you're pissed at me for that, I can't-"

"I'm not pissed at you," she says, and the word sounds so strange coming from her mouth. "I'm pissed at me. I'm pissed at… at…" Her whole face crinkles when she says it, "I'm pissed at God."

Above, thunder rumbles and cracks the sky in half, causing a rainshower to start pouring out of nowhere. April looks up, surprised, and I usher her in out of the elements. When she steps inside the door after I've shut it, the shed is quieter than it's ever been.

She smells the same. Why is that all I can think about? Of course she smells the same.

"I'm so mad at Him because…" she says, rooted to the spot where she's standing. "Because you made me feel so good. So many times. And that night, it was better than anything I had ever known. Ever, in my life. I was with you just being me. And you let me be me. I was so free, I felt so… alive. And you showed me that." She chews on her lower lip so hard I worry she might draw blood. "And the next morning, all that guilt came from everything I've learned in church. I thought it was wrong, because all I've been told is that it's wrong. But why did it feel so right? Why did _you_ feel so right? Why did something that felt so good… how could that be bad?"

I shake my head as I stare at her, just as confounded as she is.

"I don't know," I say, and my voice comes out so soft it's nearly imperceptible.

"I don't, either," she says, blinking slowly and keeping her eyes shut for long moments at a time. When she opens them, she directs her gaze to the top of my head. "Your hair," she mutters.

"I know," I say, running one hand over the choppy mess.

"What did you do to it?" she asks.

"Got mad," I said. "Cut it off, I guess."

"Oh," she replies, then takes a step closer. Then another, which puts us toe-to-toe, and she's lifting one hand to my hair, where I'd just been. Her touch is different than mine, though, much gentler. "I could fix it, if you want."

"Okay," I say, bending my neck slightly so she can reach better.

We lock eyes as she pulls her hand away, and thunder rumbles louder outside. She can't leave now.

"I missed you," she says, fingers twitching. I know why they are, too. I want to touch her just as badly, and she's holding herself back. I wish she wouldn't.

"I almost killed myself missing you," I say. She gasps, and I smile. "Just an expression."

The air between us crackles with life and electricity. From her eyes, my gaze drifts to her lips, which are shiny and open just slightly. I want nothing more than to get my mouth on them, to taste her again. I've been needing her so badly, and now that she's right in front of me, I don't know what to do.

Then, without any words spoken, she closes the distance between us and kisses me. She kisses me with all she's got, every ounce of energy and passion goes into the connection our bodies make. Suddenly, her hands are all over me and her body is pressed against mine, her tongue is inside my mouth and her breath is hot on my skin, and everything is right again.

I grapple with her lower back as she kicks her shoes off, and we stumble over to my bed. I pull my shirt off while she works on her own clothes, and when we lie down, we're both in just our underthings.

I get on top of her, overcome by the way her body moves beneath mine. I can't handle the way she writhes and adjusts, moans and sighs, trying to get her hands in as many places as possible. When her hips jolt up to meet mine, I groan and bury my face in the crook of her neck, drowning in her warmth. She holds the back of my head to keep me there, and I simply breathe her in for a moment, soaking up the fact that she's here and we're together and I don't have to be angry or sad anymore.

"I love you," I whisper, wondering how in the world I got so soft for one girl.

I never thought this would happen, not in a million years, and yet here I am. Wrapped in my tiny girl's arms, so overcome with feeling that I barely know what to do with myself. I love her so much that it hurts, but it's a different kind of pain than before. This is a dull throbbing, deep in my chest, that I don't ever want to go away.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she whispers, chanting it almost like a mantra. Under me, she finds her way out of her underwear and is conveniently already braless. I drop my lips to her chest and shower her breasts in kisses, relishing the way she tastes and feeling satisfied when her nipples perk up in response to my touch.

I shove my boxers down my legs and know that my dick is fully ready for her. But I can't help but wonder if she's ready for me.

"You want this," I breathe, lips on her jaw. "Right?"

"More than anything," she says, widening her thighs.

So do I, so I don't wait. I push inside her and let my eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the feeling of being inside her warm, tight body. She welcomes me with her knees pressed to my sides and her hands gentle on my neck, kissing me over and over again.

"Does it hurt?" I ask, cautious to move.

She shakes her head, lower lip pulled into her mouth. "No," she says, then gives me a smile - one that I hold onto to. "Not at all. Make love to me, Jackson."

Her words only propel me further. I pitch my hips forward and bury myself completely inside her, cherishing every moment as she clings to me. The sounds she makes are amazing - soft little whimpers and sighs, quiet moans and subtle whines, and when she runs her fingers through my buzzed hair and scratches my scalp, I smile and kiss her with heart.

"There's no one else like you," I tell her, and mean it wholly. I've never meant something more. I hoped I would get a chance to tell her that, and I'm so grateful I did. "No one. In the entire world."

She smiles, eyes shining with emotion. She opens her mouth to say something but gets interrupted by a thrust of my hips, which makes her throw her head back. Tonight, I'll make sure she comes first. I won't take the spotlight this time; this one's all for her.

I suck on her neck while I fuck her slow and steady, not rough at all. I would never want to hurt her, and I want to memorize the way her body reacts to mine. Every time I pump my hips against hers, she lets out a puff of an exhale near my ear and grips my shoulder blades tighter. When her nails dig into my skin, I know I must be doing something right.

I go as deep as I can. When she cries louder than the thunder outside, I smile to myself. I feel her inner muscles clenching, fluttering to hold me inside her though I don't plan on going anywhere. I'll ride this out, see her to her orgasm if it's the last thing I do.

"I love you, kitty," I say, not caring if it's the thousandth time I've said it. "I love you, and I want you to come for me."

I help her with my fingers, but not by much. She just needs the slightest push over the edge, and the twirl of my pointer finger does exactly that. When I pull it away, she gasps and then lets out a long, high-pitched moan that breaks as her body jerks and curls into itself, legs twining around my middle like two vines. I let her capture me, collapsing fully as I continue to thrust and empty myself inside her, heat against heat, sucking on the curve of her jaw as everything spills between us.

When I pull out and roll to lie next to her, we don't bother cleaning up yet. Instead, she wraps her arms around my waist and rests her head on my chest, snuggling as close as possible. I don't try and resist the smile on my face - I have her back, right where I want her.

I stroke her spine, fingertips light as a feather. She breathes against me, slow and steady, but wakeful. We aren't sleepy - we'll probably go again. But right now, this moment is saved for soaking it all up.

"What you said before," she whispers, slipping through the silence filled before with only our thrumming heartbeats. She tips her head up, meets my eyes, and blinks once. "I would."

I furrow my eyebrows a bit, mind still too clouded with sex to realize what she might mean. She reads my expression and chuckles slightly, tracing circles in the middle of my chest.

"Get married," she says, clarifying. "To you. That is something I'd want."


	12. Chapter 12

**APRIL**

It wasn't for lack of food that I wasn't eating. Every day, my mother brings me oatmeal for breakfast, and I let it sit on my nightstand until it goes cold and hard. At night, she brings me whatever they have for dinner as a family. I try my best to pick at that, but my upset stomach can't take much.

I pushed Jackson away, and now I don't know what to do without him. I don't even have the idea of him to look forward to at night. I'm locked in here like the princess in a book Alice once told me about - one that she found at youth group, and neither of us had any idea how it got there.

But I feel like that princess, whatever her name was, staring out the window and wishing things were different. I wish my life was different so I wouldn't feel all this guilt. At first, I wished I'd never met Jackson, but I can't bear to think that anymore.

I miss him so much it hurts. I can't imagine life without him. God wouldn't have given him to me for no reason, would He?

Jackson came to teach me something, to show me things I've never known, at least that's what I think. He did both, and I repaid him by pushing him away and shutting him out.

I'm still confused on whether or not having sex with him was a sin. I know the concept definitely was - but why would it feel so good if it's so bad? I can't wrap my head around that. I know Jackson loves me for more than my body, he wants everything with me.

At least, he did. My best guess is that now, he probably hates me.

I refuse to talk to anyone, and my days are spent buried in thoughts of how much I despise myself for what I did. It wasn't right. I made the choice to have sex, too. But after, I placed so much blame on him because of how guilty I felt. That wasn't fair at all. I'd be surprised if he still wants anything to do with me. If I were him, I'd probably have left with Catherine.

I don't like myself at the moment, and that only perpetuates my isolation. I don't allow myself the comfort of my bed; instead, I sit on the floor in the same nightgown, knees drawn to my chest. Completely still, I sit with my cheek rested on my knees, staring at the wall.

I'm not sure how much time passes. I learn to keep track of it somewhat due to when my mother brings me meals, and also when Alice slips notes under the door. So far, there's a handful of them and I haven't read a single one. I don't want to know what's going on in the outside world. I'm sure it's nothing good.

When I'm not on the floor, I'm staring out the window and wishing I was in the shed with Jackson. We had some of our happiest moments in there; when he fed me the cherry cordial, when he touched me for the first time, when I fell asleep beside him. I watch him move around when the light is on, and when it's off I can't help but wonder what he's doing, what he's thinking. I wish we were together so I could ask. I miss having conversations with him, because we talked about things that meant something. With Jackson, I found the courage to dig beneath the surface. I'd never felt that before.

After a bath, I take a moment to look in the mirror and see my chopped hair for what it is. I haven't been able to take it down since coming home, and this is the only time I'll get. I run my fingers through the ends and tip my head to the side, still pleased. The length reminds me of the beach and Jackson, how his hand felt in mine as we walked, and how it felt so be close to him in public. I'd been so scared while it was happening, but now I'd do anything to get it back.

Later that night, I'm lying on the rug with my hands folded over my ribcage, hair tied back up, when another note slides under the door. I'm not sure how many that makes now, but Alice's footsteps don't walk away after she deposits it.

"Sissy," she whispers. "Are you alive?"

"Yes," I answer, supposing I owe her that much.

"Did you get my notes?"

"Yes."

She takes a breath, pausing before she continues. "Well?" she says.

"I just want to be alone, Allie," I say, then close my eyes as her footsteps disappear. Somehow, I hear the dejectedness in them.

But later, in the middle of the night, curiosity gets the best of me. I flip onto my stomach and look at the myriad of paper slips before me, and pick up the closest one.

 _Are you ok sissy? Please write me back. I'm worried. Love Alice_

I sigh softly and fold it in half again, then set it to the side. That was probably one of the earlier ones. I lost count of how many days I've been in here. It could've been a year, for all I know.

I pick up another one and open it.

 _Mom told me that Jaxon is my responsibility now. I'm scared because I don't relly know how to talk to boys. I'm scared he'll be mean to me. Please come out soon. I miss you. Love Alice_

I smile to myself over her little spelling mistakes, feeling a surge of affection in my chest. Now, there's a pang of missing her along with missing Jackson.

 _I was talking to Jaxon today. He's not actually scary even a little. He's nice. We talked about you and he looked relly sad when I said your name. I told him that I knew you guys are in love and he got a funny look on his face again. He said you hurt his feelings like he hurt your feelings. Is that true? What happened sissy? Please talk to me. I won't tell mom anything. Love Alice_

 _Mom says I shouldn't talk to Jaxon that much because it's not good for me. I asked why but she didn't answer. I relly want to though because he looks so sad and mad and I don't know how to fix him. Maybe you do. I want to see you soon. You can make everything better. Love Alice_

There are more, but reading them is hurting my heart. So, instead of going through each and every one, I reach for the most recent.

 _I love you I love you I love you please talk to me please come out soon I love you. Love Alice_

With that, I decide enough is enough. I get up off the floor and, without bothering to change out of my nightgown, I open my bedroom door for the first time in days and days.

I can't think too hard about what I'm about to do, or I won't follow through. But I need to see Jackson. Judging by the content of Alice's notes, he isn't doing well. And she might not know much about our relationship, but she is right about one thing. I'm the only one who has any chance of fixing him, of fixing us. I broke us, so it's only right I put us back together. That is, if he'll have me.

I can't lose him. Someone like him will never come around again. He's shown me a life so different than everything I've been taught, and now that I've seen it, there's no going back. Knowing what I know now, I could never be happy with a quiet, simple life on the farm. The only way I'll be happy is if I'm with him.

But before I sneak outside, I quietly head down the hall and push Alice's already-cracked door open further. I see her lying to face the wall, curled into herself, hair messy and tangled on the pillow behind her head.

I take a few steps forward and place a hand on her shoulder, but she doesn't budge. My heavy sleeper. I kiss her temple, deft and sure, and she stirs just a bit as I linger near her face.

"I love you," I whisper. "Thank you."

Her eyelashes flutter, and eventually her eyes come open. She jumps when she sees me, and by the look in her eyes I can tell she thinks she's dreaming.

"Sissy?" she asks, voice bleary. "Is that you?"

"It's me," I whisper. "Shhh. I just wanted to come tell you I love you."

"I love you, too," she says, flipping onto her back. "What're you doing?"

"I read your notes," I say.

She reaches for a hug and I gladly give her one, big and strong. I squeeze her for a long time, burying my face in her familiar-smelling hair, closing my eyes from the feeling.

"You came out," she says, and I pull away to look at her face. "Are you going to talk to Jackson?"

I nod.

"He's sad," she informs me, eyes mirroring the feeling.

"I know," I say, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "I hope I can make him feel better."

She smiles softly, blinking slow because of how tired she still is.

"Go back to sleep," I say, stroking her cheek with the backs of my knuckles. "I love you."

"I love you," she whispers in return, and I kiss her forehead before leaving the room. Then, I head to the shed as quietly as I can.

…

When Jackson and I reunite physically, there's an emotional aspect to it, too. As he buries his body inside mine and reclaims me as his own, my heart bursts open and everything spills out. I hold him as close as I can and breathe in the smell of him - all woodsy and masculine. I never want to let him go again.

We talk about marriage. As we lie naked and tangled together, I see the future shining in his eyes. I resist the urge to laugh when I think about how far we've come in such a short time. When he first came to the farm, I was so overcome by just his presence alone. I couldn't have ever imagined we'd end up in a situation like this. It doesn't seem real.

But I know it is. I've never felt something more real than what I feel when I'm with him.

"You would?" he asks, referencing what I just said about wanting to get married.

A smile sneaks onto my face and pulls the corner of my lips up. "Someday," I say softly.

He weaves his fingers through the hair above my ear, threading them through to gently scratch my scalp. The look in his eyes is warm and soft, nearly melting. I'm sure mine look the same, because that's exactly how I feel. Like I'm melting for him.

"When we're older," I say, scooting closer to rest my cheek above his heartbeat. I lay a flat palm in the middle of his chest and pick it up to drag my fingernails in slow circles, soothing us both.

"What, you don't wanna get married right now?" he says, and I hear the laugh in his voice. "Right here on the farm?"

"No," I whisper, but smile as I tip my head up. "I want… a big wedding. With butterflies. And little party favors with mints inside, and printed on them it'll say 'mint to be.'"

"Cute," he says. "Why butterflies?"

"So they can be released when we kiss," I say, nestling back onto his chest. "I've always dreamed of a wedding like that."

"Where are we gonna get them from?" he asks, still entertaining the idea.

I chuckle softly. "Alice will catch them, or something," I say, then laugh again. "I don't know."

"She'd be good at that," he says.

"I know," I respond. "I want her as my maid of honor. The rest of my family can come, too. But just as guests."

"I'm sure they'll have plenty to say about it," Jackson adds.

"I won't care," I say. "Because by then, there'll be nothing they can do. They can talk all they want."

He kisses my hairline slowly, squeezing me closer by the shoulders. "You gonna wear a white dress?"

"Of course I will," I say, slipping my fingers through the hair above his bellybutton. His chest and torso are free of tattoos, unlike his arms. I'm so close that I can clearly see all the flaws his skin doesn't have. "I don't want it to be ostentatious, though."

"No, never," he says. "That's not you."

I smile softly and move my hand, letting my fingers run into the chains around his neck. I haven't seen him wear these since the day I met him, and when I run the pads of my fingers over them, the coldness is startling.

"Sorry about those," he says.

"Why'd you stop wearing them?" I ask, still tracing. They're smooth and they feel expensive.

"I didn't think you liked them," he says. "You stared the first day."

"I do like them," I say, propping myself up on an elbow to see his face. "Anything you like, I like."

"Even pineapple on pizza?" he asks, grinning.

"I've never had pizza before," I admit, eyebrows raised. "So, I wouldn't know."

"Oh, my god," he groans, throwing his head back. "You've never had pizza?"

I shake my head. "Sometimes, they'd have it at youth group. But we would never stay and eat, no matter what was served."

"Jesus would want you to have pizza, believe me," Jackson says, and I laugh. "It's like, the holiest thing ever."

"You'll have to show me, then," I say.

"I will," he says. "Believe me. When we get off this farm, that's the first thing we're doing. Going to get pizza. In Chicago, you won't even believe how good it is. Your mind will be blown, baby."

I smile, but my gut still twists at the thought of leaving the farm. I'm so filled with love for Jackson and the rising potential of our life together, but the concept of leaving everything I've been raised with is harrowing. I don't know how well I'd exist in the real world without the safety of my family to fall back on.

But I don't say that aloud, not yet. I don't want to ruin this moment. It's not like he wants to leave tomorrow. We still have time left to just be us, here.

But he reads my mind - something he's so good at - and doesn't give me a choice whether or not to talk about it.

"Baby," he says, hovering above me and tracing an eyebrow. "What're you thinking about?"

I shake my head and paint a smile on. "Nothing," I say.

"I know you are," he says, trailing his pointer finger along the angle of my jaw now. "Answer me this. Do you _want_ to leave the farm?"

He catches me off guard. I'm not sure how to answer, though I should come up with something. I need to figure this out, if for myself over anything else.

"I…" I say, then look into his crystal-clear eyes. I know for a fact I will never be completely happy here, never fully satisfied. I'll live a simple, complacent life and fall into a routine that I'll hate by the time I'm 22. All I'll ever be known as is Matthew's wife, nothing more. I'll never find my own identity, never find what I'm good at, what my passion is.

I know I can't stay. But I've never had the option to leave. Now that I do, I'm almost too scared to take advantage of it.

"My parents will never let me go," I say, voicing another fear. I'm afraid of the desire to leave because I know, deep down, that it'll only get shot down. If I asked my parents to leave with Jackson, they'd laugh in my face.

"You're 18," he says. "An adult. It matters what _you_ want. April, do you want to see the world? I could show you… I could show you everything. The ocean, Chicago… we could have a life together. You just have to be brave enough to take the first step with me."

He speaks with so much hope, so much confidence. I've never had someone put so much stock in me, risk so much just to be with me. I've never experienced this kind of love. I don't know what I did to deserve it.

"I want to be with you," I say, finding his hand to grasp his fingers tightly. "No matter what it takes."

His smile breaks his face in two, and I can't help but mirror it. His happiness is so infectious, and with the words that come from my mouth, something frees in my chest and flutters around. I've never said them out loud; I've never been brave enough. But now, by voicing that I want to be free, it's become so much more real.

Someday, I could leave the farm. Someday, I will.

"Yeah?" he says, and I nod fervently. "Seriously?"

"Yes," I say, cupping his face as he hovers over me, one knee on either side of my hips.

He kisses me - hard and full of emotion, and we don't come up for air for a long time. I arch my back so our torsos are flush together, and wrap my arms around his back as tightly as I can.

"I love you," I say, once I can breathe again. I scratch his back and wrap my legs around him, feet on his calves, and press my face to the side of his.

"Mm," he hums, kissing down my body.

He starts at my neck, licking the sweat away from the divot of my collarbones. Then, he moves to my chest. He spends a lot of time with my breasts, pressing them together with both hands to try and pay attention to both at the same time. He buries his face between them and chafes my skin with his facial hair, but I don't mind. I love the way his hands feel too much to care.

Eventually, he moves away from my breasts and straining, damp nipples to the soft indent of my belly beneath the shelf of my ribs. He opens his mouth wide, tongue drawing a line above my belly button, and closes his teeth over small portions of skin.

"I love the way you taste," he says, closing his eyes while dotting kisses lower.

And I love the way his lips feel, but I don't know how to say that without sounding silly. So instead, I just smile and run my fingers through his choppy hair that I promised I'd fix.

With gentle hands, he nudges my thighs apart. I watch him, chin to chest, and we make meaningful eye contact as he turns his head to the side to kiss my leg.

"I wanna eat you out, kitty," he says, lips moving against my skin.

"I want…" I breathe, adjusting my hips. "I want that, too."

"Yeah?" he says, rubbing my hip bones with his thumbs.

I nod, and that urges him forward. He skims two flat palms up my belly until they reach my breasts, and he squeezes them surely when his tongue runs over my lips the first time.

I let my eyes close and throw my head to one side; I'd missed his mouth on me and I had no idea how much. I widen my legs to give him more room, and he closes his eyes with passion as he opens his mouth as far as he can. His breath alone between my legs is unearthly enough, so the way his tongue feels inside my body knocks me off center and sends me tumbling into the ether.

I know I'm really wet, but I'm not afraid of it anymore, or even grossed out by it. It's a natural, bodily thing, and Jackson likes it. If he likes it, it must be something good. I love the way his eyes darken when he looks at my core, glistening with arousal all because of what he's capable of.

"Look at you," he says, pressing sporadic kisses to the tops of my thighs. "You're perfect. You're just perfect."

I blush. I'm completely naked and he's bare between my legs, but I blush because of the words he says. I feel silly for it, but at the same time I don't mind. I like being vulnerable with him.

"So wet for me," he says, nuzzling his nose through my curls. I whimper, unable to believe how intimate he can get, and open my eyes when he takes my wrist and pulls my hand lower. "Feel, kitty. Feel how wet you are."

With a trembling hand, I touch myself. My hips jolt because of it, and he directs my fingers inside by just a little, dragging them upwards. When they come out, they're shiny and slick, and I rub the pads together to get the feel of it.

He pulls on my wrist again and brings it close to his face. When it's near enough, he opens his mouth and sucks on the two fingers that had been inside me, and my body lights up again. I'm not sure why that excites me so much, but it really does. It feels naughty, almost obscene, but in a good way. I can't believe I'm feeling things like this; it's still so surreal.

He kisses his way up my body slowly, with patience. He pauses on my neck and sucks on my pulse point, massaging a breast with one hand and pinching the nipple so it hardens. When he kisses my mouth, he tastes different than usual.

Then, he pulls away with a sly grin on his face, licking his lips. "You taste that?" he asks, eyes glinting.

I nod, all I can do is nod. He's yet again rendered me speechless.

"That's you," he whispers, lips moving against my ear. "That's what I taste when I go down on you."

My face flames again, and he hitches one of my legs around his waist. We spend a moment just staring into each other's eyes and silently communicating, and when I bite my lower lip and blink at him, he knows it's time. He sinks inside me for a second time and I close my eyes, gripping his shoulders like they're the only thing keeping me on earth. And to my knowledge, that might very well be true.

We make slow, sweet love in the shed, surrounded by the sounds of the night. Crickets chirping, frogs croaking, and the bed springs squeaking accompany our sighs and moans, pleas for more and whimpers when the feeling gets to be too much. Everything culminates and comes together, creating a soundtrack I never want to forget.

His body trembles when he comes, and I cling to him desperately. I tuck my face into his neck and enjoy the sensation as he rides out his orgasm, hips bucking and jerking against mine roughly, in a way they don't while he has control. I like it when he lets go, though, too. I like seeing that untamed side of him, if only for a moment.

He makes sure I come, too, but not while he's inside me. Instead, having worked me up to the peak, he scoots down and connects his mouth to my core again. But this time, instead of teasing me, he goes right for the sweet spot and sucks on it until I'm left in a puddle of sweat and tears.

I can't help but cry. I'm so happy and full of emotion, still in disbelief that this is happening to me. How was I lucky enough to be gifted this boy in my small life? I don't know what I did to deserve him. But I'll never be stupid enough to lose him again.

"I want you forever and ever," I tell him, rolling to lie halfway on top of him. My chin rests on my folded hands atop his chest, my breasts flattened against his torso.

Jackson smiles at me, one of his blinding grins that sends me reeling as always. I swear, he doesn't know how beautiful he is.

"I love you," he says, trailing his fingers down my cheek. "Never leave me."

"I won't," I say, craning my neck to touch the tip of his nose with mine. "But you have to promise the same."

"I'd be stupid to leave you," he says. "Never. I would never."

I smile drunkenly, eyes half-lidded, face centimeters from his. This moment is perfect - our lingering sex in the air, the love folded between us - save for one thing. The persistent thought of Matthew in the back of my mind.

He stopped by twice while I was locked in my room, but I didn't see him either of those times. Mom told me in passing that he'd been at the house, but I didn't acknowledge it with more than a nod. He brought by some wildflowers that I saw on the kitchen table before I snuck out here, and more goat cheese. I'm glad no one invited him up to my room - I can't imagine what I would've said to him. I have nothing left to say. I never had anything in the first place.

Maybe a part of me always knew he wasn't the one, even before Jackson's arrival. I never felt a flame, I never felt excited to be near him, and I never, ever pictured myself kissing him. Let alone making babies with him. I shudder now at the thought, absolutely disgusted with it.

But as much as I don't want him in my life, he still plays a big role. A lot is expected of us, and he's part of those expecting few. In order to make sure my life with Jackson can move forward, whatever I have left with Matthew has to come to a halt, and I have to be the one to do it.

I can't picture what it'll be like when I tell him we can't be married. I can only assume he'll ask why, but I'm not sure what I'll say. The best case scenario is that he'll act like an adult and go along with whatever my answer is, respectfully. That might not be the likeliest option, but it's good to keep in mind. With that there, I'll be less scared and more apt to follow through.

I have to follow through. There's no choice in the matter.

"What're you thinking about, baby girl?" Jackson asks, breaking me free of my binding thoughts with soft hands on my face and an even softer voice.

"Matthew," I answer, and watch his face change when I say his name. "Just that… I have to tell him. That he and I can't be married."

"Oh," Jackson says. "Well, yeah."

"I don't know what I'll say," I admit.

"Easy," he says. "Just be like this: hey, loser. I found someone who actually treats me like a person. Take a hike, you meninist fuck."

I furrow my eyebrows and snort. "That probably won't work," I say.

He laughs, too. "If you need help, I can go with you," he says.

I shake my head and say, "You know you can't."

"Yeah," he says. "I know. I'm on your mom's shit list. I'm pretty sure she thinks I held you at gunpoint to get your hair cut."

I roll my eyes lightly. "She doesn't think that."

"Her icy stares tell me you're wrong," he says.

"No," I say, running my fingers over his beard. "You scare her. The concept of you… with me… it's scary to her."

"Yeah," he says, raising his eyebrows. "Imagine what she'd do if she knew we were like this."

I shake my head, refusing to let that thought enter my mind. "I can't think about that," I say.

"Right, right," he says. "One step at a time. And the first giant, big-ass, serial killer-looking step is… Matthew."

"Matthew," I repeat, with a heavy sigh.

…

The next day when my mother knocks on my door to offer me breakfast, I'm clean and ready in a way I haven't been before. She takes one look at me and frowns, then sets the plate down.

"April," she says. "You've been praying."

"Yes, mom," I say, not arguing with her for very duplicitous reasons.

That's what she wanted me to do most while locked in here - pray. Now that I've started to look better, she believes I've followed her direction. I agree with the prospect of getting out of this room in mind.

"It's done you good," she says. "I knew He would."

"He has," I say, knowing full well that the 'he' I'm referencing is not the same one as hers by any means.

"I'm glad to hear it," she says, then walks over and presses a firm kiss to my forehead. There's not much warmth behind it, only purpose. Even so, I lean into it. Affection from her comes few and far between. "Would you like to join us downstairs for breakfast?"

"Yes, please," I say, then walk behind her carrying the bowl she brought.

I sit quietly at the table with my family, enduring Libby and Kimmie's subtle jabs while barely hearing them. I won't let them bother me today - I have one goal in mind, and I need to keep a steady foundation to carry it out.

After breakfast is over, I help my mother and youngest sister with the dishes. Mom scrubs, I rinse, Alice dries. It's the perfect time for the conversation I need to have.

"Mom," I say. "May I go see Matthew today?"

Her presence brightens instantly, and mine dulls because of it. If only she were as excited about my pairing with an entirely different boy.

"Of course," she says. "I'll give Mrs. Taylor a call and let her know."

"Can I come?" Alice peeps, and I'm about to answer affirmatively before Mom speaks over me.

"Only April," she says. "It's important for her to spend quality time with Matthew."

Alice's face falls. Wrinkles appear on her forehead when she picks her head up to look our mother in the eye. "Why?" she asks.

"Because one day they'll be married," Mom says.

I will Alice to stop. I don't know what will come out of her mouth next, but it could very well be detrimental. She parts her lips with an inhale, prepared to argue, but I shoot her an urgent look. With that, she furrows her eyebrows and stays quiet.

I quickly apologize to her before I leave, unable to explain because of how my mother hovers. She fixes my single braid and tucks the stray hairs behind my ears, making sure I look perfect for my future husband. I'm weighed down with everything I know that she doesn't. If I weren't so used to it by now, it would be unbearable.

I walk slow to the Taylor farm on purpose. It's also purposeful that I'm going there instead of inviting him to our house, so I can leave whenever I see fit. I don't plan on sticking around longer than I have to, and I don't want to beat around the bush. I'm headed there for one reason only, and though he won't like what I have to say, my future depends on saying it.

He's waiting on the porch as I come up the walk, and I muster my best smile with a wave. He returns the greeting, and the smile doesn't fade for as long as it takes me to meet him.

"April," he says, embracing me for a long time. "It's so nice to see you. You look well. I've missed you."

"Thank you," I say, carefully avoiding the pleasantries. "And thank you for having me over."

"Of course," he says. "It's been so long since you've visited. My mother made lunch."

"Oh," I say, one hand to my stomach. "I'm sorry, we ate at home before I left. I'm still full."

His expression crumples a bit, obviously he's disappointed. I don't take it to heart, though. It's not true - I haven't had lunch yet - but eating with him would mean spending unnecessary time here. I don't want that.

"I was hoping we could take a walk," I say. "It's such a beautiful day, and I have something important to tell you."

His eyes shine, which tells me he thinks my news is positive. My gut sinks. I don't have romantic feelings for him, but I'm not evil. I'm not looking forward to breaking his heart.

"Of course we can walk," he says, and extends his arm for me to take. I conveniently pretend I don't see and start down the porch steps on my own, following the path to their garden. "Oh," he says. "I almost forgot. These are for you." As we pass the porch, he picks up a bundle of flowers and hands them over. They're a mix of purples, oranges and yellows - orchids, I assume.

"They're pretty," I say. "Thanks."

"Pretty flowers for a pretty girl," he says, and I resist the urge to cringe. Now that I've been around Jackson, it's clear Matthew hasn't the first idea of how to flirt. I can't help but feel thankful I'm not the one who he gets to try it out on for the next however-many years.

For a while, we keep pace and trade meaningless conversation. He skirts the question I know he wants to ask regarding why I was in my room for so long, and where did Jackson, his mother and I go the weekend we were away? He won't say it aloud, but he keeps hinting. I don't give in, though, not once. If he wants an answer, there must first be a question. I won't play into his games.

I realize, as we walk, that I'm stalling. I'm entertaining his measly attempts at conversation as an excuse to push my topic off further, and I tell myself to stop. I came here for one reason only, and I need to see it through. Everything will be easier once it's over with, I just need to say it.

"I came to see you for a reason," I say, cutting through his breezy voice. He looks at me with surprise, shocked that I had the audacity to interrupt him.

"And what's that?" he says, in a condescending tone. Like I can only be important if he makes it so. I know now, though, that that is far from the truth. I'm important on my own, and I'm enough. With Jackson, I'm always enough. In Matthew's eyes, I could never measure up to anything of value simply because I'm not a man.

"I have something to tell you," I say. "Something important. Something very important to me." I take a moment and thread my fingers together, staring at the ground while we continue to stroll. "I came here to tell you that you and I can't be married."

He stops dead in his tracks, though I keep going. It catches me off guard, and I have to take a few steps back.

"What?" he says.

"I can't get married to you," I say, trying very hard to keep my voice steady.

All he does is stand there for a long time, a vacant expression on his face. He barely blinks, his mouth hangs open, and the air seems to stop. I don't say anything, either, because that's all I came prepared with. The rest is up to him, and I'll fill in the blanks. But I said what I needed to say.

"You…" he says, but his voice fails and the words fall apart. "You… why?"

I blink hard, trying to orient myself and come up with something viable. "I'm not ready," I say. But as I say it, I know it won't be enough.

"That's fine," he says. "I'm not, either. We planned on waiting. We have a plan."

"I-I know," I say. "It's not that. I don't mean it like that. I mean..." I sigh, urging my brain to come up with something that he can't find a loophole through. "It's not you, Matthew," I say. "It's me. I don't know if I'm the marrying type at all. I don't think I want a husband."

That's a lie. I want a husband - I want a very specific husband. What I don't want is _him_.

"You're not thinking clearly," he says. "You've been sick for days. A fever can do horrible things to your brain. I should get you home."

He takes my wrist in attempts to lead me, but I violently shake him off. "Don't touch me," I say, and it's the first forceful thing I've ever uttered to him. I feel empowered because of it, but also a little scared.

"Excuse me?" he says.

"I don't want you to touch me," I say, crossing my arms. "I'm in control of myself and my life, and I'm telling you what I want. I don't want you to touch me, and I don't want to marry you. That's it, that's all I can say."

He stands dumbly again, but this time there are thoughts behind his eyes, swimming and formulating. "There's something else," he says, shaking his head. The expression in his eyes changes as realization must dawn on him. "Someone else."

"Of course there's not," I say, scoffing. "Please, Matthew, don't be ridiculous."

"You went on a trip with that Jackson boy and his mother," he says. "I've barely seen you at all since he came to stay with your family. He's seduced you, hasn't he?"

I open my mouth to argue, but he doesn't let me get a word in edgewise.

"I should've known," he says. "In the beginning, I had a hunch. He seemed like the type. But then I kept telling myself to trust you more than I trusted him. I told myself I trusted you enough. I guess I shouldn't have."

"You're wrong," I say. "It's not Jackson, he's not the reason. He and I aren't even friends."

The last part tastes sour in my mouth, but it's necessary to say. The fact that he's caught on so quickly is terrifying, my insides are jumping all over the place. I'm spewing words I have no control over to get myself out of this situation.

"Lies, lies, and more lies," he says. "God sees, you know. God knows. He sees how much you're lying and going behind His back. He sees it all."

"Please, stop," I say. "You don't know what you're talking about. It isn't like that."

"I'm not blind," he says.

"You're acting like you are," I say, raising my voice a bit.

His eyes widen. I've never spoken to him like that, and I even surprised myself.

"I'm sorry," I say, though I hate myself for it. I know I shouldn't be apologizing, he doesn't deserve it. But old habits are hard to break.

"Just go," he says quietly, then picks his head up to shout, "Leave!"

I gasp, holding my hands close to my chest, then turn around in a hurry. I've never wanted to get home more than I do in that moment.

…

I give my mother vague answers when she asks how Matthew was. Alice's eyes sear into me, but I do my best to ignore her gaze. I wish she were older so I could confide in her, but that's not an option as it stands. She's only ten. I would never weigh her down with all of this.

My mind is busy for the rest of the day and into the night, and it's not until late that I find relief in going to see Jackson. I scurry out of the house silently as usual, finding my way to the shed and walking in without knocking.

"There you are," he says, standing up from the bed. His hair is completely shaved now.

"Your hair," I say, walking over to run my hands over it. It's soft, though the appearance would suggest otherwise.

"I had to get it off," he says. "I couldn't wait. I used the razor."

"I like it," I say, then kiss him.

He smiles against my lips and holds my waist while we rock and back and forth to either foot. "I missed you today," he says, fingers sneaking under my shirt in the back. They're warm on my cold skin.

"I missed you more," I say, reaching up to hold his neck.

"Jesus, your hands are cold," he says, and I laugh. "How is that even possible? It's August."

"I don't know," I say.

"How was Matthew?" he asks.

I frown a bit, disturbed by the thought. "I don't want to talk about him right now," I say, as he walks us over to his bed. "Can you just kiss me? For a really long time?"

He laughs, flopping onto his back and adjusting me to sit on his stomach. "I can do that," he says, moving to hold two firm handfuls of my butt.

After the taxing day I had, I let myself get lost in him. I close my eyes and memorize the way his lips feel over mine, and taste his skin in places I never have before. After a while, my hips start to move against his body with a mind of their own, but I don't try and stop them. I like the way the friction feels, and his hands urging me forward only encourage me.

I don't know when we would've stopped that night, if at all. I won't ever know, either, because the rest of it wasn't up to us.

Interrupting our slow, heated, make-out session, the door of the shed slams open. I sit up straight, tearing our lips apart, and see my mother standing in the doorway with a flashlight in hand and an irate look on her face. She looks like she wants to kill me with her bare hands.

"I didn't want to believe him," she growls. "I didn't…"

She sputters for a moment, thoroughly shocked. I still haven't moved. I don't know if I can. I'm frozen straddling Jackson's waist, resting my full body weight on him, his hands still on my backside.

She storms over before I have a chance to do anything, though. She gets a good grip on my upper arm and pulls me off of my boyfriend, yanking so hard that I fall to the ground in a heap.

"Get up to that house right now, April Kepner!" she shouts at the top of her lungs. "Right now!"

"Hey, get your hands off her!" Jackson says, scrambling to stand.

My mother whips around as I cower near the door, afraid of what she'll do. She looks Jackson square in the face, and for a moment I think she might hit him. She's completely unhinged and unpredictable - her eyes are glistening with tears and her whole body is trembling.

"I don't want a word out of you!" she screams at him. "You're out of here, first thing tomorrow."

She turns back around and, before I can say a word, grabs the same spot on my arm and drags me out of the shed and up to the house, away from Jackson, away from everything that had started to come together. Back to the life I know, back to the life I was so ready to escape.


	13. Chapter 13

**APRIL**

"Wait!"

A loud, angry voice sounds from behind us and my mother stops her rapid movement. As she whips around, she doesn't relinquish the tight hold she has on my arm, so I lose my balance as my knees buckle and fall to the ground. She yanks me back up, though, as she stares at Jackson with fiery eyes.

He's panting, chest heaving as he hurries from the shed to meet us in the driveway where we've stopped. His face is flushed and distressed, and I assume mine must look the same. I don't know what to feel, because all of my emotions are at full capacity. I'm mortified, terrified, angry and impeccably sad. Fear gathers in the pit of my stomach and drifts to my nerve endings in waves, pulsing with rhythm. I have no idea what to expect.

"I don't want to hear another word out of you," Mom says to him, her voice low and gravelly. I've never heard her sound like that - her tone holds pure rage. Her hand shakes as she grips me, but it doesn't lose any of its strength.

"No, you need to hear me," Jackson says, and I gasp. I never knew it was possible to talk back to my mother like that, and he just did. My eyes flit to her face to see that she's gritted her teeth, seemingly in disbelief herself. "April is eighteen. She can do what she wants, and be with who she wants. She and I are in love."

"You're in nothing of the sort," Mom spits. I actually see the droplets fly from her mouth and stay on her lower lip and chin, and she does nothing to wipe them away. "She has no idea about those things. Having you here was a mistake. _You_ are a mistake. I shouldn't have ever welcomed you here."

Fury boils my blood hearing her say those things about him. She has no idea who she's talking about - a caring, thoughtful, intelligent boy. I don't know why she's bent on turning a blind eye to how wonderful he is.

"It's not his fault," I say, mustering all my courage to speak. My voice shakes, but I power through. Jackson did it, so I can, too. "He didn't do anything wrong. We made a choice together."

She shoves me away, fingers breaking their circle around my bicep. I stumble but stay upright, struggling to keep eye contact. It's hard when her gaze holds so much contempt towards me.

"A choice," she says, laughing sardonically. "And what would you know about choices?"

"I don't know," I say, trembling with fear and emotion. "But I know that I love him. And you can't take that away."

Surprising me, she raises her left hand and backhands me across the cheek, which forces me to the cool, wet ground. My elbows bend and my palms press into the dewy grass, and I stay there for a moment to catch my breath.

"Hey!" Jackson bellows. "You can't do that!"

I hear his footsteps heading towards me to help me up, but Mom gets there first. She takes my elbow again and pulls me to my feet, and I try my best to stay steady. She yanks me close to her side and extends one arm out straight, barring him from getting any closer.

"You have no place to say what I can and can't do to my daughter," she says, jaw clenched. "You are not her husband."

Without missing a beat, Jackson replies, "But someday, I will be." His voice doesn't quaver, his eyes stay in one place, and his shoulders are set strong. He's as confident as he always is.

All Mom does is laugh - loud, brash and disrespectful. Jackson fumes because of it, which was exactly what she wanted. She doesn't say another word to him, just shakes her head and turns to walk towards the house with me in tow.

As we get further away, I turn and look over my shoulder. Jackson is still standing there, at a loss, not sure what he can do. Truth be told, I'm not sure, either. I part my lips to mouth something, but my mother barks in my ear before I can.

"Face front," she says. "Take your sinning eyes off of him."

I have no choice but to obey. I try and match pace with her as she pulls me up the front steps and into the house, and she doesn't even try to be quiet once we're inside. She slams the door, forces me in even as I trip over my own feet, and practically throws me at my father who's standing in the entryway.

"Matthew was telling the truth," she says, breathless. I stand there, shoulders hunched forward and head bowed towards the floor. I refuse to lift my eyes and look at either of them - there's no way I'd be able to stomach it. "I found her in the shed on top of that boy, practically fornicating."

My father clears his throat and takes a step closer; all I can see are his shoes. I don't know why he's wearing them - it's the middle of the night. I blink softly and tears collect on my eyelashes, waiting for the perfect moment to fall.

"Is that true, April?" he asks, and I can't read his tone. It isn't malicious like hers, but it doesn't sound normal, either. It's laced with deep emotion that I'm not used to from him.

"Tell him," Mom says, hovering behind me. She isn't touching me anymore, but her presence alone is intimidating enough. "Tell him the whole truth."

"Have you been having sex with this boy?" my father asks, and I close my eyes to keep them shut for a good, long moment. I have no choice but to set everything free now.

"Yes," I admit, as quietly as I can.

He lets out a long, slow exhale from his nose as my mother stiffens. I don't have a guess on who will speak next, but I'm terrified of what they'll say. I never imagined what it would look like if I got caught, because I never thought it would happen. There were a lot of things I didn't see coming, and should have.

My father speaks, and he doesn't yell. I would prefer it if he did - I can't handle this calm, collected tone that reflects so much shame.

"It's entirely possible for you to know how disappointed I am in you," he says. "April. Look at me, right now."

I brace myself and lift my head for the first time, still submissive. My father's eyes convey everything I knew they would - deep feeling and disappointment. He's very ashamed of me.

"But there's no way for you to fully grasp how much you've disappointed God," he continues, and I feel that strike in the hollow of my chest. The two things I've depended on my whole life - the security of my parents' love and God's - have been stripped from me. What do I have left? What am I without them?

My mother starts breathing louder from behind me, then she walks around to face me. Her face is beet-red and her eyes are wide and unblinking. I flinch when her gaze lands on my face, almost if she burnt me with her eyes. At this point, it almost seems like she'd be capable.

"I trusted you," she says, very slowly and deliberately. She raises one hand and points at me, and I notice it's still shaking like it was before. "I put my faith in you, April. And what did you do? You betrayed it! Worse than that, you lied to my face. You looked me in the eyes and pretended like nothing was going on between you and that boy. I'll never look at you the same way again."

I cross my arms and rub my hands over my goosebumps-covered skin. I'm barely dressed, only in a short-sleeved shirt and shorts. It's not an unusual summertime outfit for someone my age, but I feel horribly underdressed around my parents. They've never allowed me in something this scant. I'm surprised my father hasn't thrown a sheet over me yet.

"Matthew won't want you now," she continues, voice trembling just as her hand does. "You're used. Tainted. Someone else's hands have been on you."

I squeeze my teeth together so hard that it feels like they might pop out of my cheeks. My temples bulge and my fingernails dig little half-moons into the pads of my palms. The inside and outside of my body is hot - I can't believe she's this blind.

"Good!" I explode, shocking myself and the both of them.

I stand there for a moment in the wake out of my outburst, reeling from it - but feeling empowered, too. I've never raised my voice at my parents before now, and I didn't get instantly struck down for it.

"Good," I repeat, a bit quieter, a bit more controlled. "Because I don't want Matthew." I steel myself, set my shoulders, and keep going. "I want Jackson."

Even though I should, I don't see this one coming. My mother slaps me again, straight across the face, and knocks me to the floor. I collapse onto the hardwood, knees bent with my hands supporting my weight from behind, and pant as I watch her. Time moves in slow motion as she aims for me again, but my father pulls her arm back. It's like I'm watching from above, seeing it all play out before me, since I have no control anyway.

I come back to myself when my father yells. It's not directed towards me, but it still makes me jump.

"Karen!" he barks. "You can't hit her! That's our child." He pulls me up from the ground and gets me to my feet, then holds me by the upper arms to look me in the eyes and wordlessly make sure I'm okay. "You can't hurt her," he says, cupping my jaw and looking at me while speaking to my mother.

"As if she'll learn anything from the way you coddle her," Mom spits, from a few feet away.

"She's not going to learn anything from getting slapped, either!" Dad answers, eyebrows tilted towards each other as his face turns red, too. And I'm just there, caught in the middle without a voice.

"I'm protecting her," Mom says. "From a world she should never know. I never want her to know that awful world and the awful things I was subjected to."

"What, by scaring her more? By making her home life so unbearable that all she wants to do is leave?"

"I'm hard on her because I love her!" Mom says. "I wouldn't wish my life on my worst enemy. You think I want to imagine it for my daughters?" She shakes her head, eyes glassy now. "That's the last thing I want. I don't want April out there, getting hurt and getting taken advantage of. You know the kind of person she is, Joe! She would get hurt!"

The wavering quality of my mother's voice and the fact that she's on the brink of tears should make me feel sympathy, but all I feel is white-hot rage. They're arguing for me, about me, while I stand right in front of them. It's like I'm not even there.

"But I'm not you!" I shout, as loudly as I can. I didn't even know my voice could reach that level. "I'm not!" I'm breathing hard, chest rising and falling violently with my inhales and exhales. "I want to live a life different than yours. I want to live a life different than _mine_! I've been trapped here for eighteen years, and when I got to see how normal people lived, I loved it."

I look at my mother, right in her eyes.

"I loved it. I felt free, because I _was_ free. You can't keep me trapped in this bubble. The world isn't out to get me. What happened to you isn't going to happen to me. I'm very sorry that it happened because it was horrible, but you can't keep taking it out on me. I deserve more than that. I'm not going to get hurt like you did. What's going to hurt me is if you keep me here against my will, and keep me away from the boy I love."

Her eyes are huge and fearful as she looks at me, and she takes a few steps back. She doesn't say anything for a long time, and all my father does is look at her. She doesn't take her eyes off me, though. It strikes me that I let the secret slip; I was never supposed to find out what happened to her in a life she pretends never existed.

She can't do that to my life, though. There's a world out there that I'm determined to experience. Just because she erased more than half her existence doesn't mean I have to suffer the same fate.

She shakes her head slightly, lips quivering. My father touches her arm but she shakes him off, and an errant tear slips down her cheek without any sound. It disappears under her chin and out of sight, and my heart sinks to my gut at the realization that I've made her cry. I might have built-up malice and resentment towards her, but I never meant to make her cry.

The emotion makes her seem all too human. My mother has always been a faraway figure, untouchable and stoic. Now that she's right in front of me, crying because of something I've said, I can't help but let the guilt sneak back in. Should I have been a better daughter? Should I have compromised and settled for Matthew, then been rewarded for it in the end? The look on her face tells me I shouldn't have ever brought up her past - why would she want to relive it? My words sent her back to that place, and for what? Because I'm lashing out at her for trying to protect me?

"I… I'm sorry," I stammer, insides twisting.

My father wraps an arm around my mother's shoulders, and this time she lets him stay. He rubs her arm and she folds into him, and that's the first time I've ever seen her do anything like that. She never defaults to him; it's usually the other way around.

"I'm sorry, mama," I say, nearly desperate.

I don't want to have hurt her. All I wanted was to be free and speak my mind for the first time; I didn't want to betray her in the process. Was it selfish to have done this? Should I take it all back, somehow?

"That's enough, April," my father says, sternly but not loud anymore. "Go to your room."

My breath catches in my throat and I lose it for a second, grasping for straws and wondering what to do. I want to make this better, I don't want to be left in limbo wondering what my mother is thinking and what will happen to me, yet again wasting away in my room.

"But…" I say, stepping forward. "I said I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up… I didn't mean to."

"I said, that's enough," he repeats, a little firmer. "To your room. Now."

I don't argue any further. Without looking at my mother again, I round my shoulders and turn to head up the stairs. I feel sick - I've broken into a cold sweat that I wipe from my forehead, and my stomach is churning. I wrap my arms around myself as I walk into my cold bedroom filled with stagnant air, and waste no time before gravitating towards the window to look out.

The lights are off and the shed is dark. I can't help but wonder if Jackson has already left.

…

I don't even try to sleep. Even if I was tired, adrenaline keeps me from doing much of anything besides pacing the length of my room and thinking of everything that went wrong. I shouldn't have been so careless with Jackson. I should've known Matthew would betray me in the way he did, and I shouldn't have sought solace in my boy. I was the one who put our relationship in jeopardy - it's all my fault. There's no coming back from this. At least, not in any way I can think of.

When the sun begins to rise, I stand by the window and watch the world come to life as I die inside. With every breath, my heart splinters a bit more. With every passing moment, reality sinks in and I find it impossible to believe that he'll never hold me again, never kiss me again, that I'll never know that kind of love again.

I miss him already. And for all I know, he hasn't gone anywhere. But I'm here again, trapped in my ivory tower, locked away from the one who makes me happy.

Maybe it's what I deserve for throwing my mother's past in her face in such a cruel way. I never meant to do that, it was an evil thing to do, and yet it was so easy. What does that say about who I am inside? Have I really abandoned God so much that I would speak so carelessly, throw such volatile words around like they're nothing?

I skip breakfast, but not voluntarily. My stomach grumbles for food, but no one brings me anything. The house is silent and unmoving below me; it doesn't even sound like my sisters are awake. Or if they are, they're quarantined, too. Apparently by satisfying myself, I've hurt everyone around me in the process. And in the end, the only thing I got out of it was a broken heart.

I stand at the window and wait for something to happen. The first movement comes from the shed a bit later, and my stomach jumps at the prospect of seeing Jackson.

And I do see him. He comes out dressed in the same outfit I left him in last night, a scowl on his face. I press my palms against the windowpane in a weak attempt to get his attention, but I don't bother banging on it. I just let my hands rest against the cool glass and wish with all my heart that he would look up and see me.

He walks to the barn and I lose sight of him until he comes out hauling a bale of hay. The muscles strain in his arms under the sleeves of his t-shirt when he tosses it over the fence, and my heart swells as I watch. No one is out there telling him to do that, and he has no obligation to, but he's doing chores anyway.

I want to be with him so much it hurts. I want to send my fist through this window and escape, leaving behind all the pain the farm has given me. But instead, I lift my hand just slightly and set it back down with care, making almost no sound at all. I sigh through an open mouth and wonder what I'm supposed to do now, getting lost in my negative thoughts when another sound attracts my attention. It's the sound of tires on gravel, the sound of a car coming up the driveway - a familiar car. It's Catherine.

I gasp aloud as I watch her climb out of the driver's seat. Her expression matches Jackson's - that familiar scowl - as she marches towards the barn to collect him. He sees her before she gets very far, though, and his expression totally changes. From determined anger comes soft sadness, and he collapses into his mother's arms like a small child. My heart feels like it physically cracks inside my chest. He's broken, too.

She hugs him for a long time, rubbing his back as he rests his head on her shoulder. Though he's much larger than she is, he looks small while she holds him. Her arms are tight around his shoulders and her mouth is moving close to his ear as she speaks quiet words. I don't know if either of my parents have ever hugged me like that. The only one who's ever shown me that kind of affection is Jackson, and now I see where he learned to give it.

I ache all over. I ache with desire to be touched and comforted like that, I ache to feel the safety of his arms, or even the safety of hers. I ache to be anywhere but confined in my room, all alone, to contend with my emotions and heartbreak by myself. I can't do this anymore.

I have to do something. I can't just stand here and watch my life pass me by, I have to make a move. Take action and be something other than complacent.

I dig out my backpack from under my bed and do my best to fill it as quickly as I can. I throw my toothbrush, toothpaste, pajamas, and whatever clothes I come across inside, along with a dilapidated pair of sneakers. Maybe Catherine will take me shopping again for everything else I need, and I can find some way to pay her back. I don't have time to think about bringing anything else, anyway. This is all I can manage.

I sling the bag over my shoulder and burst out of my room, down the stairs and past the kitchen to head out the front door. When I reach the porch, I see that my father is standing in the driveway talking to Catherine - actually, being berated by her. I stop dead in my tracks and stare at Jackson while incendiary words pass between our parents, and all I can do is watch everything play out before me.

"Of course it's no surprise that my son and your daughter have fallen in love," Catherine says, face pinched. "It wouldn't have come as a surprise to you, either, if you knew her at all."

"You don't know a thing about my daughter," my father says.

"I might not," she says. "But I've seen more of her heart than you've allowed yourself to. Do you know what flavor of ice cream she likes? Her favorite hymn? Do you know what her goddamn favorite color is?"

"I'm aware of the important things," he argues. "I know she has a deep love for God and her family. And the presence of your son in our home has diluted that. He needs to leave. Neither of you are welcome on this property ever again."

"I wouldn't force my boy to stay in this prison camp for another second if you paid me," Catherine says, and extends her arm. "No one should be subjected to a life like this, and that includes your children. I have half a mind to call Child Protective Services on the both of you." She gives my father a hard stare. "I understand what Karen went through when we were girls. I was there with her before you were. But her trauma doesn't give her the right to neglect and shelter her daughters in the way she has. Don't you see how much of a disservice you've done them? Don't you see how much you've hindered their growth?"

"A glimpse into our life doesn't make you an expert on it," my father says. "Walk a mile in her shoes. Then, you might have a chance in understanding."

"Walk a mile in your daughter's!" she persists. "Why don't you ask her how she feels about the way you've forced her to live?"

Catherine makes eye contact with me, and my father realizes I'm standing behind him. He spins around with glistening eyes, and I wonder if he's on the brink of tears. Never in my life have I seen him cry or even show any strong emotion. I never knew he could.

"Go inside, April," he says, voice low and gruff.

I don't budge. I don't plan on going inside. I didn't come out here to talk. I came out here to take a stand.

"April Olivia," he says, barking like the intimidation will work like it always has. But this time, I try not to let it. "Get in that house. Now."

I shake my head just barely, just enough. "I can't," I say, and wish my voice was louder and stronger. But I have to work with what I've got.

He comes closer, eyebrows lowered. "Why's that?" he asks.

I make eye contact with Jackson over my father's shoulder and wish he were closer. I've never felt so trapped in my life, and there are no walls surrounding me.

"I'm going with him," I say, trying to sound indignant and sure. But my voice is a mere peep once again. "With them. I'm going with them, and you can't stop me."

"If she wants to come, she's welcome to," Catherine says. "Let me take your bag, sweetheart. Get in the car. We'll figure this out."

Tentatively, I take the bag off my shoulder and extend a hand to give it to Catherine, but my father snatches it away before she can take it. After, he throws it with all his might across the lawn, and it lands by the front porch steps in a heap.

"No way on God's green earth are you going with them," he says. "Not on my watch. You live under my roof, you abide by my rules. You go by God's word. You won't go off and live a life of sin in the same house as a man you aren't married to. That's not what He's taught you."

My whole body shakes as I stare at the ground. I want to look up and make eye contact so badly, but something within me prevents that. I'm still so terrified, I can barely move.

"I don't care," I say, mustering everything within me. "I love him. And you can't take that away."

"You don't know what love is," he snarls.

" _You_ don't!" I insist, and then my father grabs my wrist and holds it hard.

"Let go of her!" Jackson cries, hurrying forward to try and save me from my longtime protector, only to be stopped before he reaches me. My father lets go of my wrist and stands in front of me, and without any agency, I balk and quiver behind his broad back.

"Get in your car and leave our home," he tells them. "If you're still here by the time I count to five, I'm calling the police with a trespassing charge."

There's a charged moment between the three of them, one I'm not included in - one I'm not welcomed for.

"You're a horrible man," Catherine says, and I feel the sting of her words as they come out.

A part of me wants to stick up for my dad, the man who raised me and loved me for so many years, to tell her he isn't really horrible. He's stuck up for me against my mother countless times. He does want the best for me. He isn't horrible. What he's doing is confusing and might be unforgivable, but at his core he isn't a bad person.

As I think that, though, I wonder if those thoughts only cross my mind because they've been conditioned to. Are my mother and father actually horrible people? Is the only reason I think otherwise is because I can only see them in the light they've painted? Will I ever know that answer if I never get far enough away to put this farm into perspective?

"Your words mean nothing to me," he responds, coolly.

"Jackson, let's go," Catherine says, and opens the driver's side door. Before she gets in, she throws me an apologetic look, but I'm not sure what my mirrored expression returns.

Jackson takes a step towards the opposite side, but turns on his heel before he gets there. In the blink of an eye, he rushes over and takes me in his arms, wrapping me in the hugest hug he's ever given. His arms almost feel like they could wrap twice around, and when I bury my face in his chest I try and memorize the way he smells so I never forget it.

He gave me more in a summer than I've ever had in my life. I might never see him again, and there's no way I can repay him.

I entwine my arms around the small of his back even as my father tries to pry me off. Catherine does nothing - she sits in the car and watches our expression of love happen before her - but my father works for the both of them.

"Let go!" he demands, but I block out his furious voice and tip my head up to look at Jackson's face.

He's openly crying with tears running down his cheeks. The whites of his eyes are red with bags underneath, sadness layered throughout; I've never seen them look so heavy. Even as my father pulls on me, I reach to cup my boy's jaw and kiss him softly - not roughly, not with passion, but for a long time. Through our lips, I try and communicate everything he means to me, and I hope I've done it right.

"I love you," I say, and my father finally gets me out of his grip. "I love you, Jackson."

"I love you so much!" he shouts, as I'm being pulled back towards the house with brute strength I can barely feel. "Kitty, I love you."

"Don't forget me," I plead, barely using my feet to walk. Instead, my father drags me.

"I'll come back for you," Jackson says, and the tiniest flicker of hope sparks in my chest. It's impossible to ignore now that it's lit.

I see the look of resignation on Catherine's face as she shuts the door behind her son, and as the car pulls away, I break free of my father's stubborn grip. I bolt towards the reversing car and press my hand flat against Jackson's through the window, looking into his desperate eyes with my own.

"I'll come back," he promises, shouting through the glass. "I'm coming back for you!"

I run after the car until I can't feel my legs, until my lungs burn with exhaustion, until I collapse in a heap in the middle of the dirt road. I collapse onto my hands and knees with my eyes forward, watching the taillights as they burn out in the distance, until my father comes to collect me once again.

…

I don't see my mother for days, and it isn't because I lock myself in my room. It's because she's holed herself away, hidden from the rest of us, much to the confusion of my three sisters. Of course, I know why. But I would never say.

I do everything quietly, nearly silently. In the mornings, I go out and do the same chores as always with no questions asks or greetings offered. I make lunch with my sisters, read my bible, go to church when I'm told to and at the end of each day, I get to my knees and pray.

Kneeling beside my bed with my hands clasped together, I pray for release at first. I pray for an escape, for rescue. But after a handful of days pass, I give up that up and move onto something more tangible, more realistic. Once I get my head out of the clouds, I pray for acceptance. I pray that I can become used to this life, and settle for what I've been presented with.

It's clear now that there was never a future for Jackson and me, so the only solace I can find is a reconciliation with Matthew. Once we're ready, our children will bring me joy. At least that's a blessing I can look forward to.

I don't let myself think about the mundane life ahead of me, though. If I think about it too hard, the inside of my body starts to itch - an incredible scratch that I can't get anywhere near. I think of the hundreds of thousands of days that lie before me, before us us, that all look exactly the same.

My father won't look at me. I don't think he can. I'm surprised I wasn't punished for the happenings of that night; but I think, more than anything, that he wants to forget it ever happened. And once my mother comes out of her room, that will be easy.

With each day that passes, I try to push Jackson a bit further out of my head. I don't let my thoughts drift and settle on his face as the sun beats down on mine. Instead, I focus on things I can touch and feel, things I have in front of me. The horse fur I'm brushing, the stall I'm sweeping, the clothes I'm folding. As long as I keep my hands busy, my mind won't get distracted.

The only person who makes this impossible, though, is Alice.

"Sissy," she says, unassumingly as we sit in the grass after our chores are done. "Where did Jackson go?"

I'm surprised she didn't ask sooner. It's been a couple weeks now, long enough to get used to the idea of life without him.

"He left," I say, and rest my head against the tree behind me. For a moment, I consider leaving it at that - but wonder what the truth could hurt now. Everyone who wasn't supposed to find out already knows. "Mom and Dad kicked him out."

She gasps quietly. "What?" she says. "Why?"

I swallow hard and the saliva barely makes it down. "They found out about me and him," I say.

"Oh," she says, directing her eyes towards her lap. She lets a long silence pass as she plucks grass from the ground and sets it in straight lines across the fabric of her skirt. "Do you miss him?"

I haven't allowed myself to think it, let alone say it. So, I'm caught off guard by the way it makes my body feel when I say, "I miss him so much it hurts."

She looks up then, turning her face towards mine. "Do you really, really love him?" she asks.

I stare at my feet, clad in dingy boots that I've been wearing for too many years. I can't help but remember the flip-flops I wore on the shore with Jackson, the cheap pieces of plastic that meant so much.

I nod. I'm not sure what words I could say in response, I'm not sure what would mean enough. There's no way my ten-year-old sister could possibly understand the gravity of everything I felt and still feel for Jackson, though I can't help but wonder if I'm underestimating her.

"What did it feel like?" she asks, and I smile to myself. It's a question I would've asked before all this happened, because it's a concept so foreign to us. I hadn't the first idea of what romantic love felt like, and now I wish I still didn't. Just like when he was taken from me the first time, the second cut is ten times worse.

"I don't know," I say, then pull my knees to my chest. "Being around him was like the first real, warm day of spring. When everything is green, and there's that smell in the air. That sense of renewed hope, and everything is happy. It feels like there isn't anything to worry about. You're safe, and there's a lot to look forward to." I trace circles on my knee with my fingernail. "Being around him was like feeling a thousand things at once. But the breath of fresh air, that was the biggest part."

She doesn't say anything to follow, probably because she's absorbing my explanation. I glance over to find her eyes on her feet, staring with intent.

"I wanna feel that someday," she says, and knocks the toes of her shoes together.

I take a moment before I answer. "You will," I say.

But as the words come out, I can't help but wonder if I'm lying to her.

…

I don't sleep much anymore, but on the night that it happens, it works in my favor.

I'm lying in my bed that I'm so used to, staring at the ceiling while trying to keep my mind as quiet as possible. But because of the quiet, I hear something that makes me think I must be hallucinating.

Everyone is home, yet I hear tires on gravel.

I sit up slowly, supporting my weight with hands behind me on the mattress. I swing my legs off the bed to touch my feet to the cold floor, and spend a moment just listening to the engine rumbling in the driveway.

I rub my eyes. I must be dreaming.

But when I pinch the soft skin of my arm, right over the J formation of freckles, nothing happens. I'm awake, and there's a car in the driveway.

As softly as I can, I slip out of my room and down the stairs, where I hurry to the front door and quickly unlock it. I throw it open and stand in its wake, locking eyes with Jackson where he stands just outside of a car I don't recognize - one that must be his.

"Kitty," he says, and the word breaks open a floodgate inside my heart I'd been forcing closed.

By the light of the moon and the grace of God I knew he would come back for me. I wouldn't let myself feel hope because I was saving my heart, but standing in the inky darkness of a thick summer night with the boy I love just feet away from me, hope courses through me in waves.

"Jackson," I say, and run to him.

When we meet, I leap into his arms. I wind mine around his neck and latch my legs around his waist, and he holds me with ease. He presses his face into my neck and we simply hold each other for a while, soaking in the fact that he's here, this is happening, and we're together again.

"What are you doing?" I finally ask, setting my feet back on the ground. He keeps a firm hold on my waist, though, and doesn't let me go far.

"Rescuing you," he says. "I told you I'd come back."

My eyes fill with tears, and the warm look on his face makes them spill over. He wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs, only to have more replace them.

"I love you," I say.

"I love you, too," he says, then nods towards the car. "Get in. We should go."

"I…" I begin, then look back towards the house. "I have to grab a few things. I'll hurry."

"Okay," he says. "Go."

I sprint back inside without bothering to close the front door. I make it up to my room, grab that same ratty bag, and fill it with things from home. I include my bible, a few necessary articles of clothing, my red notebook, and a handful of the notes Alice wrote me while I was stuck in here.

As Alice crosses my mind, I come to a halt outside my room. I try and take a step forward, a figurative step into my new life, but a strong thread still holds me to this one. My littlest sister.

I frown standing there, completely stuck. What kind of person am I if by escaping a toxic environment, I leave my helpless baby sister behind? Who does that? How selfish could I possibly be?

Almost as if it were meant to be, the door next to mine comes open very slowly and Alice appears in the crack. She's wearing one of my old nightgowns, a blue one, and her eyes are bleary with sleep as she rubs them.

"Hey," I say softly, walking towards her. Her eyes catch on my backpack, but she doesn't comment at first. Instead, she lets me hug her and hold her for a long time.

"Sissy," she says, pulling away to take one of my curls and weave her fingers through it. "Why haven't you left yet?"

I blink hard, surprised at the question. But even from here, I can still hear the engine and she isn't stupid. She knows what's going on; I don't have any explaining to do.

"I can't leave you," I say, framing her face with two gentle hands. As I look at her, I remember the baby I met when I was eight years old, the one I loved with everything I had and still love, though in a different way. She isn't that infant anymore - she's still a child, but a much wiser one now.

"You have to go," she says, nodding firmly.

She throws her arms around my neck and lingers for a moment before letting me go.

"The breath of fresh air," she says, still holding tight. "You need that."

My throat clogs as I pull away, staring into her eyes that match mine. "I'll find you when I can," I promise her. "I will. I love you."

She nods, lower lip trembling though she's trying her best to keep it from doing so. "I love you, sissy," she says. "Quick, go!"

With that, I bolt down the stairs and out the front door that I'd left ajar. Jackson is still waiting and leaning against the car, and when I appear, a relieved smile breaks onto his face as he opens the back and tosses my bag in.

As he enters on his side, I jog around to the other and climb in, too. Dressed in a nightgown with no shoes, I buckle myself in and prepare to leave behind my previous identity as the possibility of the future sits right beside me.


	14. Chapter 14

**JACKSON**

April doesn't look back as we peel out of the gravel driveway, and I don't either. The reason I keep my eyes on the road is because I'd rather not know before I get hit in the back of the head with a bullet from her dad's shotgun, if he's out there. But I think her reason has more to do with looking forward into the future for the first time in her life.

The adrenaline doesn't stop coursing through my veins, but it does slow down as we get further and further away. Neither of us says anything. I keep a strong grip on the wheel and a lead foot on the gas pedal, grateful that I'm still alive and breathing. I didn't know what I was going to do if her dad had come out. Or even worse, her mom.

April stares straight ahead, eyes nearly bugging out. I glance over every now and then as we create more distance between ourselves and the farm, and she doesn't even move. I don't so much as see her chest rising and falling.

I leave her be for a while, though. She needs a moment to be alone with her thoughts, to process what just happened, without my two cents added. I leave the silence between us as it is and focus on the road, listening to my own thoughts swarm inside my brain.

I leave the situation alone until I can't take it anymore. In the dead of night illuminated by a sky full of stars, I pull the car over to the shoulder and shift it into park. I sigh softly, relax against the back of the seat, then look over at her.

She looks over, too, slowly. Her lips are parted slightly, her skin is pale - almost luminous in the ethereal light of the moon, and her eyes are flooded with feeling.

"Do you want this?" I ask, breaking the trembling string of tense silence between us. "Do you really want this?"

She closes her mouth, pressing her lips together. Her eyes dart all over my face for a split second before she unbuckles quickly, leans across the console, and grabs my head to kiss me with power I had no idea she possessed.

I kiss her like it's been years since I last tasted her mouth. I crush my lips to hers and she does the same, both of us ignoring the sparks of pain as our teeth clash. We don't care how sloppy or clumsy our hands and lips get, all that matters is that we were both alone for too long, and that doesn't have to be the case anymore.

We break apart after kissing for a long, long time. The car windows fog up and our skin gets dewy, and as I'm looking at her face, I draw a line across her cheekbone across the bridge of her nose. I trace the sporadic freckles and close the distance between us again, shutting my eyes to get lost in the way she tastes and feels. I want to take her, consume her, conserve everything she is. I want to protect her from the world while at the same time showing her everything beautiful it has to offer.

I take her bottom lip in my mouth and suck on it, holding the back of her head as she holds mine. I move to her cheeks and then her neck, hands drifting lower too, and then just hug her. I press my face against her chest and hold her with all my might, having never been more grateful that she's right here in front of me.

"I love you," I say, fingertips digging in. "God, I love you."

As her chest trembles, I realize she's crying. When I pick my head up, she's wiping at her eyes with one hand and using the other to cup my jaw, stroking my skin with her thumb. As she sniffles, I lean forward and kiss the tears off her cheeks.

"What?" I say, nuzzling her nose. "What's wrong?"

She hiccups and tries to catch her breath. When she finally does, she shakes her head and says, "I'm free."

…

After we start driving again, April falls asleep and she falls asleep hard. Her head lolls to one side, her mouth drops open, and she doesn't even stir whenever we hit potholes and bumps.

I don't let go of her hand, either. I take the left one in my right and keep a good grip on her fingers, stroking her skin as a reminder that she's next to me. When I glance over at her vulnerable, sleeping face, my chest floods with so much warmth and affection that I can barely stand it.

She sleeps for the entire two-hour drive. I can't imagine how tired she must be - mentally, emotionally and physically. She needs the rest and she deserves it, so I don't do anything to disturb her.

I do a lot of thinking, though. When I pulled up in that driveway and she came running out, I felt like my heart was going to burst from my chest. The look on her face told me everything I needed to know - she was a prisoner, and she had already resigned to a lifestyle as such. She'd gotten her hopes dashed enough times to be wary of putting herself out there again, and the fact that I was standing in front of her, ready to take her away, was a shock. She didn't expect to be rescued, but I never planned on leaving her there.

When I left initially, I was fucking distraught. In the car on the way back with my mom, I was beside myself and wouldn't listen to anything she had to say. It's not like she was trying to preach my ear off or anything, but I didn't want to be subjected to any comforting words or advice. I had descended into a place that those things couldn't get me out of. I needed to take action, make something happen, and I needed April. There was no way I could let her live out her life at that farm, marry Matthew and have his Hulk-sized children. At the time, I wasn't sure what I could do, but I told myself it had to be something.

I spend days locked in my room, not coming out for anything. I cried a lot, and the tears were angry over anything. I was angry that I lost her, angry that we were so stupid and careless - we had gotten lazy with hiding our relationship. It got too easy to slip up. I was angry at the fact that she probably thought I was never coming back, because even though I promised her, I knew how she would see it. She'd been taught to quickly resign, to be submissive to life, while I've been taught the opposite. And that was the reason I burst out of my room with an idea and a mission that I knew my mom would approve of.

We made the decision that April and I would stay at the lake house for a while until we could get things figured out. There's still no way we'd be safe in Chicago, and the last thing I want is to take her someplace where she feels afraid. I want her to feel free, to feel comfortable in a place she can live in the open and experience life the way a normal 18-year-old should. And the lake house is a perfect place for that.

She's still sleeping when we pull up in the driveway, and after I park the car, I just watch her for a while. Her chest rises and falls subtly, but other than that her body doesn't move at all. I smile to myself and lean to kiss her forehead - hoping to wake her - but she still doesn't budge.

I let go of her hand and walk around to the passenger's side door, and open it slowly. Still, she doesn't move. I reach across her body and unbuckle her seatbelt, then with one swift movement, lift her into my arms to cradle her close on our way inside. I try my best to reach for my keys with April's body in my arms, but the door comes open before I can do something stupid like drop her.

"You made it," Mom says, meeting us in the doorway. "Oh, good gracious. Would you just look at her."

"She was asleep the whole way here," I whisper, walking inside carefully. With her eyes still closed, April presses her head closer to my chest and nuzzles against me, face scrunching as she comes closer to consciousness.

"She must be exhausted," Mom says, touching her red hair gently. "Bless her heart."

"Yeah," I say, looking down at my girlfriend's serene face.

"Did they give you trouble?" she asks, referencing the Kepners I'm assuming.

I shake my head and adjust the way I'm holding April. "They don't know," I say. "No one came out. I think she got to say goodbye to Alice, but that was it. She snuck out."

"Lord," Mom says, sighing deeply. "We're just going to have to figure that out in the morning. You two should head up to bed. It's been a long night. Where's her bag?"

I shrug one shoulder. "She doesn't have one."

Mom lets her eyes trail over April's body - donned in an old nightgown and no shoes. The look in her eyes says it all, she came here with literally only the clothes on her back and a heart full of hope.

"We'll get that squared away tomorrow then, too," she says, then kisses my cheek. "You're a good man, Jackson."

"Thanks," I say, offering a small smile before walking up the stairs with April's limp body in my grasp.

When I get to my bedroom, I push open the door with my back and gently deposit her on the bed. I retreat to the bathroom to get myself ready for bed, and when I come out after brushing my teeth, washing my face and changing into pajamas, she's sitting up on the mattress looking pretty disoriented.

"Hey," I say softly, stepping over. "We're at the lake house."

She rubs her eyes and looks around while blinking slow and hard. Her eyebrows furrow before she yawns, and she stretches her arms high over her head before letting them fall back down to her sides with a thump.

"Are you gonna come lay down?" she asks, scooting further back on mattress. She lies on her side and watches me, eyes still bleary.

"Of course," I say, then flick off the dim light and join her in bed.

It's an indescribable feeling, having her next to me under the covers again, and I feel like my heart might explode. Her face is so close to mine that I can see every detail - from the way her eyelashes curl to the soft, invisible peach fuzz on her cheeks.

She gravitates closer as soon as I lie down, wrapping her arms around my neck and throwing one leg over my waist. I smile softly and hold her thigh, stroking her skin with my thumb, and kiss her slow and smooth on the lips.

"Jackson," she says, messing with the hair at the nape of my neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I respond, meaning it wholeheartedly.

"And thank you," she continues, then shakes her head. "I never thought… I didn't…"

"I know," I say, then hitch her leg a little higher. I want her as close as I can get her. "But you're here now."

"Yeah," she says. "And you are, too."

I smile and kiss her again, even longer this time. When we pull away, she's grinning so hard that it crinkles her eyes and lights up her features. Her face is so open and free right now, there's not a single worry or bad thought in my head. All I'm thinking about is April and the fact that she's mine.

"Let's…" she begins, but then falters. "Can we…?" she attempts, but falls off again.

"What, kitty?" I say, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear.

She licks her lower lip and her eyes can't find a place to land on my face. As they dart around, her eyelashes flutter in their graceful way and I can't help but smile. I know exactly what she's thinking, but I didn't want to be the one to ask because I didn't want it to seem like I was forcing her into anything.

"You know…" she says, her voice sounding all coy.

"What?" I prompt again, teasing her with my eyes.

Her expression turns pouty as she pushes her lips out and moves her head around. "Jackson…" she whines. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," I say, touching the tip of my nose to hers. "But I want you to say it."

"Why…" she trails off, dragging one hand down my chest and tearing her eyes away from mine.

"'Cause I like hearing you say it," I tell her.

She huffs and looks back up. "Can we have sex?" she asks, quietly.

I laugh and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling our torsos flush together. "Geez, kitty, of course. Why didn't you ask sooner?"

She giggles and rolls onto her back, looking up at me with a crinkly neck and a chin pressed to her chest. "You're teasing me," she says, a giggle in her tone as I prop myself on an elbow to look at her.

"I like seeing you laugh," I say, and kiss her. I initially meant for it to be a quick peck, but when I go to pull away, she keeps me there with two hands on the back of my head. I don't try and move anywhere, though. This is exactly where I want to be.

I let one hand find its way to her thigh, where the skirt of the nightgown has ridden up. I slip beneath it, past the fluttery material, and flatten my palm over her hip. I massage her skin with my fingers while I move lower and suck on her neck, and she rewards me with a few drawn-out, salacious moans.

When I get my mouth on the place that makes her crazy, her breath pauses and she tenses before fumbling for my hand that's on her waist. When she finds it, she directs it between her legs and presses it there with firm fingers, and I smile against her skin. She's done playing, beating around the bush. She's ready to tell me what she wants, and I'm ready to give it to her.

"Remember the first time," I say, lips moving against her beating pulse while I slip inside her underwear. As usual, she's damp and hot - ready to be touched. Ready for me to touch her. "When I first did this to you?"

She nods, a loud breath coming from her nose while she looks me dead in the eyes. "It felt…." she closes her eyes for a second as I push two fingers in without warning - slowly, but with confidence. I insert them as deep as they'll go, and it takes her a moment to regain her footing and catch her breath. "I never knew I could feel like that," she finishes.

"Mm-hmm," I say, drawing lazy circles with my fingertips.

"You changed me," she breathes, widening her legs. "You really did."

I smile softly and press my face in the open space between her shoulder and neck. I love the way she smells there - all warm and intimate. I wish I could bottle it and keep it for when we're apart - though hopefully that won't be very often anymore.

"You changed me, too," I say. "You don't even know how much. I think different now."

"You… think different," she sighs, lifting the small of her back as I hit that light-up spot inside her. "Oh, god."

I kiss the corner of her jaw and switch up my rhythm, going faster instead of slow and steady. Her mouth falls open for a moment before she closes her lips again and drags her teeth over the lower one, eyebrows pressed together under the concentrated wrinkles on her forehead.

"I don't think stupid anymore," I say.

"You were never… stupid," she says.

Her eyes shoot open when my thumb finds her clit and presses on it deftly, and I don't resist the urge to lean forward and kiss the soft inside of her thigh. She's exquisite - laid out bare and perfect for me, no holds barred. I use my free hand to slide inside the front of my pants and maneuver my dick out of my underwear, then stroke it in time to how I'm stroking her.

"I acted stupid," I say, adjusting so I have a better angle. I want to get my mouth on her, so I work on situating our bodies so I can. "I acted fuckin' stupid all the time."

I slip my hand out of her for a brief moment, and she opens her eyes with curiosity. She takes a breath to ask what I'm doing, but realizes that as I'm bending her knees and lying down between them, I'm positioning myself to eat her out. As it dawns on her, she relaxes and gets comfortable, settles in, and I can't help but smile. It really is her favorite thing.

I kiss those lips that won't kiss back and her hips rise to meet me. I keep one arm straight along her lower belly to prevent her from moving too much, and lick my lips before touching her again. I move my head vigorously and close my eyes while burying myself in her heat, my nose nudging the most sensitive part, and she holds the back of my neck with both hands - determined to not let me escape. As if I'd try.

I move my jaw roughly and forcefully, listening to her whine and whimper in response. The pitch of her voice is desperate and the movement of her hips is even more so, and when I look up I see that she has both hands on her breasts over the fabric of her nightgown.

"You wanna get there?" I ask, voice falling into her body as my lips move against her wet heat.

"Yeah," she whines. "Yeah… yes, please."

I smile deviously and push harder against her, shaking my head from side to side while she comes undone and screams at the top of her lungs. Her voice breaks at the top and I laugh to myself wondering what my mother must be thinking downstairs, but I don't think about that for very long. Instead, I focus on cleaning up the clear liquid seeping from inside April, slipping over her swollen lips and the swell of her ass. I open my mouth wide and clean it up while she jerks and twitches above me, trying her best to catch her breath. I'm not sure how well that's going.

When she's as clean as possible, I kiss my way up her body and disappear beneath the nightgown she's still wearing. It billows around my head as I kiss her stomach, her ribcage, the flat space in the middle of her chest - and when I turn my head to bite the round underside of her left breast, she giggles and holds my head over the fabric.

"What're you doing?" she asks.

"Kissing you," I say.

"You're inside my dress," she says, still laughing softly.

"Mmm…" I hum. "I realize that. It'd be better if you'd just take it off."

I inch out and watch as she pulls it over her head in one fell swoop. It messes up her hair so the curls are frizzy and standing up every which way, but she either doesn't notice or doesn't care as she tosses the garment to the floor.

"Jackson," she says, sitting with her legs crossed in front of her. She sits so casually, yet she's completely naked. If anyone's come a long ways between us, she has.

"What's up, babe," I say, working out of my clothes. I stand up to step out of my pants, and sit back down once they're off. My erection stands on full display, so hard that it touches my stomach, but I try not to focus on it so I can listen to her.

She's got her eyes on it, though. She chews on the inside of her cheek and stares, and if I were anyone else I might feel self-conscious. But I know how well-endowed I am, so I don't mind that she's looking. I'm proud of what I have.

"You…" she says, then swallows hard. "The whole time we've been together, you've given me…" She swallows again. "You've done oral sex on me, and I never have on you."

I shoot her a half-smile. "It's not a race," I say. "You're new at all this. I don't expect shit from you, kitty."

"I-I know," she says. "That's not what I mean. I mean… I think I want to. I kind of want to… um, touch you… with my mouth? If that would be okay?"

I raise my eyebrows and try not to seem shocked - I don't want to put her off or scare her. "God, of course that would be… yeah," I say, then clear my throat. "Um, you're sure?"

She nods. "I just don't really know how?" she says, tone lilting at the end like a question.

"I can teach you," I say. "Uh, here. Why don't you kneel on the ground. Are you okay with being on your knees? On the ground?"

"If that's where you want me," she says, scooting off the bed in all her naked glory.

She crosses her arms over her chest when she stands, and just looks at me for a moment before sinking onto her knees. I've moved to the edge of the bed, sitting there with spread legs and an erection to end all others. I can't believe she's about to suck me off; I've thought about this so much. I probably won't last more than a minute.

She puts one hand on either of my legs, and electricity surges through me from that action alone. Her thumbs trail through the curly hair on my thighs while she waits for instruction, and when I look down I see there's already a bead of pre-come on the tip. That's a little embarrassing, seeing as she hasn't even touched me yet.

"Uh, so…" I begin. "The whole thing isn't gonna fit in your mouth-"

"Is that bad?" she asks.

"No," I say, shaking my head.

"Is it because it's big?" she says.

I smile, which lightens the mood a bit. "Pretty much, yeah," I say. "I don't wanna gag you."

"Okay," she says, continuing to move her fingers on my legs.

"So, you can use your hand on the bottom part of the shaft," I say, mimicking the motion she should do. "And pump it. And you can take the head in your mouth and just kinda treat it like an ice cream cone. Anything you do is gonna feel good, I promise."

"What if I'm not good?" she asks, adjusting on her knees. "What if I'm bad?"

"You won't be bad," I say, reaching to push a piece of hair out of her eyes. "I'm not gonna last long, no matter what you do. You got me so turned on already, kitty."

She smiles shyly and blinks a few times, then stares at my penis that's right in front of her face. She licks her lips, takes a deep breath, then covers the head of my dick with her mouth while keeping steady eye contact with me.

I close my eyes right away, unable to wrap my head around the feeling of her mouth on me. I've always thought about what head from her would be like, but now that it's actually happening I can't control myself. I reach around to the back of her head and hold it gently - I don't force her forward at all - and she flattens her tongue around the underside of it while trying to go as deep as she can.

I watch her face turn red, then her eyes bulge when she goes a little too far. She pulls off, coughing and gasping for breath, holding her chest with one hand.

"Sorry," she says, looking self-conscious as she wipes her mouth. "It hit… I choked."

"You okay?" I ask, thumbing away some stray spit from her cheek.

"Yeah," she says. "Can I keep… do I keep going?"

"If you want," I say. "You don't have to, if that bothered you."

"I'm fine," she says. "Can I try again?"

"Go ahead," I say, keeping my hands at my sides on purpose. I don't want to make her feel like I forced her to go too deep.

"You can put your hand back," she says, reading my mind. Her breath falls onto my dick and it twitches, and she watches while it does. "I liked it."

"Alright," I say, then replace my hand where it was.

She puts her mouth on me again and doesn't try and go too far. She concentrates on the head, the most sensitive part, and swirls her tongue around it slow and languid. I'm blissed out; I let my head fall back and I tighten my fist in her hair, and before long - even though she doesn't quite know what to do yet and her motions are repetitive - the muscles in my groin tighten and I know I'm gonna blow soon.

"You don't have to swallow," I say. "You can just… just pull off. But can you pump that fist? Spit on it, and-and pump. I'm close, kitty."

"What?" she says, pulling off and making me lose my momentum.

I look down after opening my eyes, only one thing in mind. I grab her free hand, spit on the palm, and put it back on the shaft. "Just pump it," I say. "Fast, and harder than you think. With your mouth on the head like you had it."

She obeys and does both at the same time, and by doing so, works me back up to the same point again. I feel my features pinch as I get close to the edge, and when I'm about to fall over it, I look down and warn her.

"I'm gonna come," I grunt, and she pulls away just as the hot, white-clear liquid spurts out of my dick. It lands on her chin, chest, and shoulders, and keeps coming until I'm spent and completely wasted of energy. "Fuck," I breathe.

She blinks hard, hands away from her body, unsure of what to do with herself. I watch her for a moment, still foggy, and try to come back to earth to clean up what I did.

"I didn't mean to get bossy with you," I say, suddenly conscious of what I was like. "I'm sorry if that was fucked up."

She shakes her head, and by her expression I can tell she isn't bothered, isn't trying to cover anything up. "I didn't mind," she says, then puffs her chest out proudly. "I got you off. Right?"

"Yeah, you did," I say. "And it's all over you, babe. So, let me grab a towel."

I walk into the bathroom and she stays where she is. From the floor, she calls and asks, "What does it taste like?"

I come back into the room, towel in hand and a confused expression on my face. "Uh, I don't know," I say.

"You get to know what I taste like," she says. "I kind of wanted to know what you…" She looks down at what's left on her chest, then drags one finger through it. Surprising me, she sticks it in her mouth and sucks off the come I left, taking her sweet time while she does.

"Well, fuck," I say, shocked.

She pulls her finger out and sits there while I clean her off. "It was like… kind of sweet? Maybe a little salty?"

I frown a little and make sure there's none left on her skin. I don't want her getting any more ideas.

"It was runny, like an egg," she says.

"Okay, kitty," I say, shaking my head and laughing. "I get it."

"It wasn't bad!" she says, and complies when I pull her up on the bed by her armpits. "I wanna try and swallow next time."

My dick twitches, hearing her say that. Maybe this talk isn't so gross after all.

"I'd be down," I say, then lie next to her, hold her face, and kiss her. We make out for a long time, our legs weaving through each other, and I hold her body tight. I love all of its curves and slopes, and I want to memorize everything about it. Hopefully, one day, I will.

When her hips start to move in a specific rhythm against my thigh, I know she's back at her peak again. "You wanna fuck?" I ask, pressing my lips to hers for a long time before pulling away for a breath.

She snorts with laughter.

"What?" I say.

"You're so crude," she says, trailing each of her pointer fingers over my cheeks. "When you say stuff like that. So crass."

"What," I say, nuzzling the apple of her cheek. "It's fucking. That's what it's called."

"It's called making _love_ ," she says.

"Alright, sap," I say, but my heart flutters when she says it. I know she's right, I just like getting her goat.

"It is," she insists. "It's more than just…" She raises her eyebrows in insinuation of the word.

"Than what?" I ask.

"You know," she says, eyes wide. "What you said."

"What did I say?"

"Jackson," she says, with an eye-roll.

"I forgot," I say. "Remind me. What was the word I used?"

She shakes her head, pursing her lips with determination. There's a laugh in her eyes, though, and I want to set it free.

"Come on, kitty," I say, digging my fingers into her side to tickle her. "Just say it. One time, come on. I just wanna hear you say it once."

"No!" she laugh-shouts, throwing her head back as I move to her armpits. "You can't make me!"

"I bet I can," I say, gobbling at her neck with my lips over my teeth while still attacking her body with tickling hands. "Say it. Say it, kitty, or I won't stop."

She can't breathe, she's laughing so hard. I'm tickling her in every ticklish spot imaginable, from the bends of her knees to the dip of her waist. And with my mouth on her neck, she's a lost cause.

"Fine!" she finally says, laughter tears streaming down her face. "Fine."

"So…?" I say, raising my eyebrows.

In the quietest whisper she can manage, she gets close to my face and says, "Fuck."

I burst out laughing, then, and she does, too. I pull her close and kiss her heartily on the mouth, holding the back of her head while I do, and keep her close with one leg thrown over both of hers.

"You swore," I say, teasing her after we pull apart.

"You made me," she says, lips pinched to fight a smile. "Sinner."

I laugh with my mouth closed and ghost my lips over hers. While we kiss some more, I use one hand to manipulate her hips and open her legs so I can push inside her without either of us having to change positions.

When my body moves inside hers, the reunification is palpable. We cling to each other and she opens her mouth on my shoulder, digging her teeth in as I go as deep as I can. I bury my face in her neck and lick her sweaty skin, making sure the rhythm of my hips is slow, thorough, and steady. I want her to feel everything and more.

She wraps her arms around me and shudders, and the softest of whimpers comes right next to my ear; I wouldn't have caught it had she not been so close. She throws one leg around me and digs her heel into the back of my thigh, and I return the favor and sink my nails into the small of her back, hoping to leave marks behind.

"Oh," she moans, body rocking from the way I'm pounding into her. "Mmm… I feel it… Jackson, it's…"

She loses her breath, but I know what's about to happen. She doesn't have to say anything more. I scoop my hips upwards and try to hit her g-spot, and whatever I do must work because she holds me tighter than before and all of her muscles get tense as she does. She wraps her body around mine like some sort of strong ass vine, and says 'yes' about fifteen times before she finally lets her muscles relax.

She strokes my face while I work up to my own orgasm, staring at me like I'm made of gold. No one's ever looked at me that way before. Her eyes are soft and melted, absolutely enamored, and I hope she knows that I feel the same way about her.

"I love you," I say, crushing my lips to hers in a hot, searing kiss as my orgasm starts. "Mmm, fuck, April. I love you."

"I love you, too," she says, both hands flat on my ass.

I buck against her, emptying my load inside her, and she lets her mouth fall open. I try and kiss her but miss, and end up with my lips and teeth on her chin, but I don't bother to move. I just go lower and bite at her throat, and we spend a while lazily touching each other while our respective orgasms fade away and the exhaustion starts.

Lying there with her, I have no desire to clean up. I'm bone-tired now, and so is she. We're sticky from sweat and what we did together, but neither of us care.

My mind is almost blank with her in my arms, but not quite. I have one thing left to say.

"Baby," I say, weaving my fingers through her hair.

"Hmm," she says softly, eyes closed.

"You know what I said earlier, about how I used to act stupid?" I say.

She nods, drawing loopy circles over my bare side with her fingernail. It gives me chills.

"I'm never gonna act stupid with you," I say, holding her head with both hands. I kiss her forehead slowly and surely. "I promise."

…

In the morning, I'm surprised to find that I wake up before April. She's still close me, lying on her side while I'm on my back, face turned up with her cheek on my chest. She's sleeping sound and deep; I come to the conclusion that it must be nice not to have any obligations to think about. This is probably the first time that she's been allowed to sleep in, devoid of any worries.

I stroke her forehead with the tip of my pointer finger as softly as I can. I don't want to wake her, I want her to sleep, but at the same time I miss her eyes. And her smile, now that I think about it. How stupid is it to miss someone when they're only sleeping? I've definitely never felt anything like that before.

I hear footsteps on the stairs only a few moments later and know, without a doubt, that they're my mother's. I expect her to walk by my closed bedroom door and head down the hallway, but she does no such thing. Instead, before I can even react, the door comes open and she appears inside it with a smile on her face.

"Good morning, sunshines," she says, seemingly unfazed that her son and his girlfriend are naked together in bed, barely covered by the sheets.

"Mom, Jesus," I hiss, and the sound of my voice wakes April.

She comes to the surface slow at first, blinking close to my face with a gentle, sleepy smile. But then, she notices my mother and devolves into full freak-out mode.

"Oh, gosh!" she says, scrambling to cover her chest. But by doing so, the sheets fall down further and she exposes herself more than how she'd been originally. "Oh, my gosh. Catherine, I… I'm so sorry, I can go… I can go away…"

"Why would you do that?" Mom asks. "It looks like you were having a nice rest. I just came in to say good morning. It's almost 10, so I thought I'd get you two lovebirds up and at 'em. We have a lot to discuss."

April sits there, spine stiff as a board, clutching the blanket as close as she can. I stay lying down, eyes lazy on my mother, fingernails casually scratching my girlfriend's bare back right beside me.

"Cool," I say, then nod towards the door. "We'll be down. Can you just give us a sec, please?"

"Gladly," she says. "Put yourself together. But do not, by any means, start getting busy and keep me waiting."

April's whole top half blushes, but all I do is roll my eyes as the door closes. When it's fully shut, the sheet drops and I pull April back to my side, where she comes begrudgingly.

"How is she just…" she begins. " _Okay_ with us sleeping together? She didn't even bat an eye. My mother would've…"

"Oh, I know what yours would do," I say, eyebrows up. "She already did it."

"Yeah," April grumbles.

"I don't know why my mom's so cool about it," I say. "She's a sex therapist, which has a lot to do with it. She lives and breathes sex. And it's not news to her that I'm active. We've had different versions of 'the talk' plenty of times."

"The talk?" she echoes.

"Yeah, the birds and the bees," I say. "Remember, like I taught you?"

"Oh," she says. "Right."

After a few minutes of cuddling and kissing, we get dressed and head downstairs. Breakfast is already on the table, and April and I sit next to each other with a plate of eggs and bacon each. Mom has apparently already finished, but has the newspaper in front of her, glasses resting on the tip of her nose.

"I'm sorry about earlier, Catherine," April says meekly, staring at her plate without picking up any utensils.

Mom sets the newspaper down and pushes her glasses up. "Child," she says. "Come here."

Dutifully, April pushes out her chair and walks over, probably assuming she's going to receive penance. But instead, Mom wraps her up in a huge hug that catches April off guard, making her stumble a few steps forward until she collapses into my mother's arms.

They hug for a long time. Long enough where it feels weird for me to still be watching, so I look away. When it's finally over, April is sniffling and wiping tears from her face, and Mom cradles her jaw and looks meaningfully into her eyes. She helps to dry the tears and gives April a firm kiss on the forehead, and I know exactly what she's thinking. It wasn't right for her to be starved of this kind of love for her whole life. These small actions seem like the world to April because she's been consistently given next to nothing.

"We've got you now," Mom says, very quietly. April nods, soaking in the words. "We're going to take good care of you, sweet girl."

"Thank you," April peeps, and sits next to me again. She tries to stop crying, and we give her a minute to compose herself.

"How are you doing?" Mom asks, once the emotions have calmed down. "How are you feeling?"

There's a long pause before April answers. I can practically feel her turning over the words and wondering what to say; I don't know what I would say if I were in her shoes.

"I feel free," she says, finally. Her voice is light and airy, not laden with any thick emotion. She means what she's saying. "It's scary, not knowing what's gonna happen in the future, but…" She shrugs and looks down at her lap. She had no choice but to put on the same nightgown from last night. "At least I know there is a future for me."

"Yes, there is," Mom says, reaching over to pat April's knee. "And that's exactly what I want to talk to you about."

We settle in and start eating while Mom dives into the conversation. She knows that April was homeschooled all her life and she also knows that she's extremely smart, but there are a lot of things that you can't learn at home, no matter how advanced you are. She says those things tend to pile up in senior year, so she thinks it would be wise for April to go through 12th grade at a real high school where she could not only catch up with curriculum, but learn social skills and meet other kids our age. Mom thinks it would be the perfect transition into 'real world' living, and I can't help but agree.

"Real school?" April says, wringing her hands. It's something she always does when she's nervous, I've noticed. "I… I've never even thought about that before."

"I have no doubt that you'd catch on in no time," Mom says. "We could send you right here in St. Joe, to Lakeshore High School. It'd be simple, really."

I rest a hand on April's thigh and look at her for a long moment. "What do you think, kitty baby?" I ask quietly, gearing the question only towards her and not towards the group.

She nods slowly at first, then more confidently. "I think it could be fun," she says. "I would be normal for the first time in my life."

I smile hearing her sound excited over something so mundane. Public school is something that everday kids take for granted - most of them fucking dread it. But here she is, excited over the concept alone.

"What about you?" April asks, prompting me.

I open my mouth to answer, but my mom gets there first. "He has a decision to make," she cuts in. "University of Michigan, or UPenn?"

Instantly, frustration ripples through my body at the fact that she doesn't let me think for myself. Of course, I've been getting the emails and calls from all the schools I was accepted to. My first choice was Northwestern in Chicago, but when I found out there was no way I could go back to the city, I gave that thought up. I had to give up U Chicago and UIC, too, both of which I was disappointed over. When I got close with April, though, she gave me hope again. Hope that a future could exist without the school of my dreams, it would just have to take a different route.

But other schools are still trying to get in touch with me, too. As made obvious by what my mother just said.

"Neither," I say, stubbornly.

"Jackson Avery, that's not an option," she refutes.

"Yes, it is," I say. "I'm an adult, and I can make choices for myself."

April takes the wrist of my hand that's resting on her leg and squeezes. I don't need words to know what she's trying to tell me: _breathe._

"You're an Avery," my mother argues. "Averys don't take a year off. They go to college, then grad school, then they get their PhD. There's no way you won't follow that path. Absolutely no way."

"Well, maybe my path is different," I say. "I want to take a year off and be with April. What's supposed to happen, I'm just gonna go off to college and leave her here alone? What was the point of all this, then? No way. Not everyone has to-"

"Wait," April says, cutting into the conversation. "Where is the University of Michigan?"

"Ann Arbor," my mother answers, easily.

"And… are there high schools there?" April asks.

"I'm sure," Mom says, looking confused.

"So, it's easy," she says, pleased with herself. "I'll do my senior year there, and you can start as a freshman in college. We can go to school at the same time." She smiles, small at first and then wider. "Right?"

I look between my girlfriend and my mother, wondering how that idea could work. We could easily find an apartment off-campus, located between our two destinations. We could make it work - I have money and we could get jobs if we needed to. Sitting here at the kitchen table, I'm already imagining what our future will look like. I'm picturing it, and it's beautiful.

Mom shrugs and nods with approval.

"We could do it?" April asks again, eagerly.

An incredulous-sounding laugh escapes me as I take her hand and kiss it. After, I look at her and kiss her cheek, where I linger for a long moment.

"Yes," I say. "We can do this."


	15. Chapter 15

**APRIL**

The ride to Ann Arbor from St. Joe can't be more than a handful of hours, but it feels like we spent forever in that car.

I had tried to sleep, but I was too nervous. I kept picking at my nails and bouncing my knees, dressed in the new clothes that Catherine had taken me - and just me - shopping for. I was wearing a thigh-length floral skirt and a tank top. I'd never felt so comfortable and free. But I could barely concentrate on it from how crazy my mind was going.

I'd never been that far away from home. I couldn't stop thinking about what my family must be doing with me gone. Did they even care? Did they want me back? Were they doing anything to make that happen?

I didn't speak any of that out loud, and I still haven't. Now, everything of ours - mostly Jackson's - has been moved into the new apartment, and I'm sitting on the couch while Jackson and Catherine talk things over in the conjoined dining room. I know it's rude not to join the conversation, but I'm stuck in my head. I wouldn't be much use, anyway.

"I don't like the idea of you starting without a major," Catherine says.

I hear Jackson sigh and know what his expression looks like. He's exasperated - it's been a long day. He doesn't want to hear this again; she's brought it up frequently within the past couple of weeks.

"It's not a big deal to go in undecided," he insists. "It's actually smarter. I've told you this like, a thousand times. Would you rather me just pick something random and not be passionate about it? Wouldn't you rather me figure it out while I'm there, taking classes?"

She sighs. "U of M is known for its medicine program. Aren't you interested in being a doctor like your grandfather?"

"Not at fucking all," he says, and I knew he'd answer like that. They've been having this same argument for days. I can practically recite it myself.

"You're not going to squander this opportunity and choose something silly and meaningless," she says. "Like art history, or some other nonsense."

"Number one, that's fucking rude," he says. "Those people probably have a lot of talent. And number two, I don't even know the difference between Leonardo Da Vinci and DiCaprio, so you're safe on that front."

"You exhaust me, son," she says, sighing. "Am I going to be able to trust you to get all the things you need? All those books, and stay organized?"

"Yeah," he says. "I'll be fine. And plus, I got that little cutie over there to help me."

At my mention, I lift my head and set my chin on my knees bent up by my face. I manage a weak smile, but they both notice that my heart isn't quite into it.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" Catherine asks. She walks over slowly and sits next to me on the couch, and I wrap my arms tighter around my legs. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with everything that's about to happen and all that already has.

I shrug one shoulder, halfhearted at best.

"Kitty," Jackson says, standing. Then, he looks at his mother. "She's probably tired. It's been a long ass day."

"I'm really nervous," I say, and my voice comes out weaker than I imagined it would.

"Oh, of course you are," Catherine says, rubbing my back. The action is comforting, and it soothes me a bit. I like having her near me. "Your first day of high school is tomorrow. Anyone would be nervous."

"Yeah," I mutter.

"Is there something specific you're worried about?" she prompts, facial expression soft and open.

I shrug again. There's almost too much to put into words. I don't even know what to be worried over; I have no idea where to start or what to expect. I'm being thrown headfirst into boiling water, or at least that's what it feels like.

"I know it's scary, baby," Jackson says, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "But you're gonna love it. You're gonna make tons of friends and everyone is gonna love you. You're smart as fuck. You're gonna own it. I know you probably don't believe me, but you'll see. The first step is the worst part."

"You would know," Catherine jeers, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

"I'm not good at making friends," I say, looking down and tracing the sharp bone on my ankle.

"Hey…" Jackson says. "Don't spew shit. Number one, you didn't really have great pickings before. All those church fucks. Now, you'll actually be around normal people. Normal people, who are gonna see how cool you are. You're gonna have like, tons of people asking to hang out with you all the time and I'll probably never see you."

I look up, eyes wide and fearful. I can't imagine not seeing him.

"Hey," he says, reaching to place a hand over my bare foot. "I'm just kidding."

"Oh," I say, then cast my eyes down again. "I don't know. I don't think people will like me. I'm not like… everyone else."

"But that's a good thing," Catherine says, voice soft and sure. "Yes, you might stick out. You might always stick out, no matter where you go. But nobody ever said that was wrong. That can work in your favor, and it will."

I sigh and try to let their words sink in. It's not easy, though, when I've never been built up like this before - I don't know how to take it. I don't know how to believe them.

"You'll see," Catherine says, then kisses my temple. "I'm gonna get going. But I'm not far away. If you need anything, call. I can be right over."

I look up and watch as she stands, and I almost don't want her to go. I love that Jackson and I have our own place now, our own life, but I think it'll feel like something is missing when she leaves. She's the first warm mother figure I've ever had, and I don't want her to go away. I want to sleep in her bed tonight and have her comfort me in a way my biological mother never did, as silly as that sounds. I know I'm too old, but it seems like that's all that would make me feel better.

I don't say any of this out loud, though. I would never want to make her feel obligated to take care of me; she has plenty on her plate already. Jackson is still here with me, and he always will be. I can count on him. And of course, he can count on me. He'll be starting a new phase of his life, too.

"I'll see you soon, sweetie," Catherine says, bending to kiss the top of my head. "You sure you'll be okay?"

I nod and offer her a smile. She cups my chin in one hand and strokes my skin, then takes it away to touch Jackson's chest.

"Take care of her," she instructs, firmly.

"Yeah, mom," he says.

"I mean it."

"Uh, yeah," he says. "I know. You don't need to tell me."

She gives him a kiss on the cheek and soon leaves, which puts just the two of us alone in an apartment that's very quiet and still.

"You wanna get ready for bed?" he asks, coming over to brush my hair out of my face. "I'm tired. I figure you must be exhausted."

"Yeah," I say, quietly.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod without much conviction. I know he sees through me, but he doesn't push. There's not much more to be said.

"Alright," he says. "Well, I'm gonna go wash my face and shit."

"Okay," I say. "I'll just be a second."

He turns around and walks down the hall, and I get up after he disappears into the bathroom. I go over to the dining room table where all my school supplies are laid out, and look through them compulsively to make sure everything is there. I have binders, folders, pencils, pens, highlighters, and everything in between. Upstairs I have too many new clothes to know what to do with; I couldn't be more prepared if I tried. Yet, I'm still standing here, making sure everything is in its place like something might have mysteriously disappeared since I put it here an hour ago. I count and recount my supplies, wondering if I'll really need all of them - at home, I used a pencil and sometimes a workbook. Most of the time, it was just plain paper.

I run one finger over the spines of the multicolored notebooks in my printed backpack, reminded of the little red one I tucked in the new purse Catherine bought me. I haven't written in it for ages - not since before Jackson and I first had sex. My thoughts have been too wild to even think about putting them on paper, but at the moment it seems like the only thing that'll feel right.

I grab it and sit on the little balcony we have overlooking the quiet, residential street. There aren't any chairs out here yet, so I sit on the ground with the notebook on my lap and a pencil in hand, staring up at the clear sky. It's not as clear as it was on the farm, but not bad. There are still stars.

I look down at the empty page after a while, drawing loopy circles and swirls - my typical doodles. I don't force my brain to come up with anything, I just try and let the words flow. They always come better that way.

 _Fly away little wings._

 _Trying to find light,_

 _don't know what's right._

 _Not the person I always knew,_

 _who went by everybody else's cue._

 _Left everything I had on the shelf,_

 _is this the place I can be myself?_

I don't realize how long I've been outside with my little poem until Jackson's voice comes through the screen door.

"Kitty cat?" he says. "You coming to bed? It's kinda late. School night, and everything."

"Yeah," I say, then unfold my legs and stand up with the notebook tucked close to my side.

"Were you writing?" he asks, as we walk down the hall to our bedroom. _Our_ bedroom. That phrase so surreal to even think about. I nod, and he smiles a little. "That's good."

"Yeah, I wrote a poem," I say, then lay down with the notebook on the nightstand beside me. I went through my bedtime routine earlier while Catherine was still here, and she showed me how to use fancy face washes and creams to keep my skin clear. The days of scrubbing my skin with a harsh bar of soap are over. "Do you wanna hear it?"

"If you wanna share," he says. "You don't have to."

If it were any other night, I might rag on him for how he used to read this notebook without my permission. But I don't have the capacity for jokes at the moment.

Lying on my back, I open the tiny book and read aloud what I wrote. I know it's not that good, but I think I did an okay job voicing my thoughts. I've always been good at that through poetry, I think.

"That's beautiful, Shakespeare," he says, then turns to face me. He throws an arm over my belly and kisses the round of my bare shoulder, but I don't look at him. I keep staring at the page, going over the words I already have memorized.

"Who's that?" I ask, distracted.

"Who's…damn," he says, then his voice fades. "Well, shit. You'll learn about him. You got a lot… yeah. He's a famous playwright. Pretty cool. Kind of annoying."

"Oh."

"So, like me."

"You're not annoying," I say, quietly. I set the notebook down and feel his eyes on me, but I still don't look back.

"Tell yourself that about three months ago," he says.

I don't respond. I don't have anything to say; I have no energy to banter with him. I just want to go to sleep, but I don't want the morning to come. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Baby kitty," he says, rubbing circles on my stomach. He keeps his lips on my shoulder and his eyes on the side of my face, and I keep mine on the ceiling. He slips that hand beneath my shirt to touch my skin, then traces the waistband of my pajama shorts with his pinky finger. "Maybe we should do something to take your mind off it."

"No," I say, instantly. Sex isn't what I want right now. Knowing my current state of mind, I wouldn't get much out of it. It would be disjointed and disheartening over anything.

"Alright," he says, a little disappointed. "What can I do?"

"I don't know," I say. Suddenly, my eyes burn with the onset of tears. I'm terrified for tomorrow - terrified for a huge dose of the real world that I'm not sure I'm ready for. All of this is happening so fast. I've barely had a chance to breathe.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks. "That might help, at least a little."

I turn my head finally. "Of course," I say.

He smiles softly and cradles my jaw as he presses his lips to mine, and I close my eyes and let myself get lost in how gentle he is with me. I tell myself that, even if tomorrow goes badly, at least I have my boy to come home to. No one can take that away - even if it still feels like they can.

"You're so ready for this," he says, pulling away. He gives me one more quick, chaste kiss after he speaks, then traces the slope of my nose. "I promise."

"Okay," I whisper, and tell myself to try and believe him.

…

The next morning, I open my eyes from a very restless sleep before the alarm goes off. It's still dark outside and I don't feel refreshed at all - in fact, I feel more tired than I did when I laid down last night. I woke up every hour on the hour, frantic that I must be late. So now, all I feel is groggy and listless.

I curl on my side and wait until the alarm actually goes off. When it sounds, Jackson inhales sharply and swings an arm over my shoulder to press the phone screen until the noise stops.

"Mmm…" he groans, then buries his face in the back of my head, in my hair. It's tangled and greasy - I need a shower. A shower, which is such a new, luxurious and foreign concept. It's been nice to actually feel clean instead of scrubbing myself raw in an inch of tepid bath water. "Time t'get up."

I don't say anything. I keep my eyes open, but I'm faced away from him so he can't tell.

"Babe," he says, hand flat on my side. "Gotta get ready."

I take a deep breath and set my jaw. My stomach is jumping, my thoughts are deafening, and I don't want to move.

"I can't go," I say, very quietly.

"Huh?"

I tuck my arms closer to my chest and repeat the sentiment. "I'm not going," I say.

"Yeah…" he trails off. "Yeah, you are. I don't think it's really an option. Sorry."

He's obviously right. I need to go to school, but I can't picture anything worse. I can't see myself in a building full of other kids who all know each other, where I stick out because I'm the freaky farm girl who's been homeschooled all her life.

"What are you so scared of?" he asks, stroking the bare skin between my tank top and shorts.

I shrug and press my face further into the pillow. "I don't know," I say. "Everything. I'm not gonna know anyone. They're all gonna think I'm weird."

"Hey, hey," he says. "No, they won't. You're not weird. You're funny, headstrong, and beautiful, not to mention fuckin' smart. Don't get down on yourself."

I know he means what he says, but for some reason the words don't sink in. I can't make myself believe him. I feel like a baby bird who's been ripped away from the nest too soon - bare, pink and vulnerable. Like I have no chance of surviving on my own. Once I start falling, I won't fly. All I'll do is hit the ground and die on impact.

I try and get ready as best I can. I take a quick shower, brush out my hair so it can air-dry, and put on the outfit I chose painstakingly last night. It's simple - a pair of fitted jeans and a blousey-type shirt, but still more intricate than anything I used to wear for lessons on the farm.

It's strange, not getting up with the sun and going straight outside to take care of the animals. I wonder who got saddled with my duties now that I'm not there to do them. My stomach sinks when I realize it's probably Alice.

I haven't let my little sister cross my mind for the past couple weeks because when she does, I feel evil and powerless. I left her in the home that was cruel to us both. I didn't save her, I saved myself. What does that say about me?

I'm sitting at the table with a bowl of untouched cereal in front of me when I start to cry. I can't help it; the tears come on faster than I have control over, and I lose all the composure I had left. I let my shoulders curve forward and cover my face with my hands, body racking with sobs while Jackson hurries to follow the sound.

"Kitty," he says, sounding worried. I feel his hand in the middle of my back, rubbing slow circles as he tries to soothe me. "Baby, what's wrong?"

I try and catch my breath to tell him, but it doesn't come. It catches in my throat and makes me hiccup and stutter, and I struggle to make a sound that isn't a strangled wheeze.

"It's alright," he says, then kisses my hair. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he doesn't really know how to handle me like this, but I can't stop. "Just try and breathe. I just wanna know what's wrong."

I take a huge inhale that strains my neck and makes my veins bulge. "I-" I begin, then lose it again before starting over. "I want my mom!" I sob. "It's stupid, I know it doesn't make sense… but I want… I want… I don't know!"

He looks at me with pain laced in his aquamarine eyes. He doesn't understand me. Truth be told, I don't understand myself, either.

"I'm gonna call my mom," he says. "Stay here. I'll be back."

He disappears for a bit while I devolve at the table, spiraling further and further into hysterics. I know I have no reason to feel alone, but I do. I've been stripped of the only support system I've ever known, no matter how unsupportive they actually were.

"She's on her way over," he says, when he comes back. "Do you wanna sit on the couch?"

I nod shakily, tears still streaming down my cheeks, and he leads me there. He doesn't try and stop my crying while we wait for Catherine, and I don't either. He stays at my side, only getting up when he needs to answer the door.

"Where is she?" I hear Catherine ask.

"Living room," he says. "She's on the couch just crying. I don't know how to help. She said she wants her mom."

"Oh, bless," Catherine says, then appears in the entryway.

We make eye contact and I start sobbing all over again, body trembling and convulsing as I let my emotions take over.

"Oh, honey," she says, hurrying over. She adjusts my body so my head rests on her thigh, and instantly starts petting my hair in a calm, repetitive rhythm. Instantly, I feel a little better. "What's going on, my sweet girl?"

I take a few deep breaths so I'm stable enough to talk. "I know it's stupid," I say, voice still wobbly. "But I just miss my family. I… I miss all that stuff I used to know. I don't know what's gonna happen to me at school. I'm just really scared."

I turn over so I can look at her, and she glances down to make eye contact. She caresses my forehead, then wipes the dampness on my cheeks away.

"I know you're scared, baby," she says. "But life is about being scared sometimes. You can't move forward without being terrified out of your wits. I know it feels cruel and you just wanna go back to what you know. But I promise, this is gonna lead you to a beautiful life. One that you deserve. So many doors will open for you, honey. And I want to help you open them. I would never leave you stranded. Jackson wouldn't, either. We're here for you, April. And as long as this new life is something you want, we'll continue to help you cultivate it."

"I do want it," I say, sniffling. "I don't know why I miss them so much. I don't want to go back."

"It's just what you're used to," she says. "And that's okay. It's to be expected. Honey, honestly I'd be more worried if you didn't have a meltdown this morning. You're human. You're allowed to have feelings and express them without being punished or shamed. Completely allowed. Encouraged, actually. I'm here to take care of you. I'll always be around when you need me. I mean that, okay?"

I nod, a few more tears leaking out from the corners of my eyes for different reasons now. I've never felt this kind of motherly love before. I don't know how to process it.

"I'll come inside the school with you," she says. "We both will. Help you find your locker, get acclimated. It'll be fun. Does that sound good?"

A little smile fights its way to my face, and Catherine kisses my forehead. I close my eyes as she does and say, "Yeah. It does."

…

Huron High School - that's where I'll be attending my senior year. The school is huge - a building bigger than I've ever seen. It's beautiful, but very intimidating.

I stare out the window, stunned. This doesn't look like a place for learning. I can't imagine how many students must fit inside - it must be thousands, at least.

I might throw up.

"You're fine," Catherine says, patting the hand that's resting on my thigh. "Might as well not waste any more time. Let's get you inside before you're late."

I nod and grab my backpack, walking between the two Averys as we make our way up the ostentatious front steps. Kids are milling about on them, leaning on the railings and talking amongst each other, taking pictures with their cell phones. I don't have one of those yet, but Catherine promised me one in the next few days.

"We'll stop at the main office first," she says. "On the phone, the secretary told me she'd have your schedule today since we missed orientation."

"Okay," I peep.

Jackson takes my hand subtly. I smile to myself, then look over at him. He smiles back and squeezes my fingers, letting me know without words that he's on my side and isn't going anywhere. I'm already dreading the moment they both have to leave.

I follow them into the main office and barely listen while Catherine talks to a woman behind the desk. When she comes back, she hands me a slip of paper and helps me read through it - for the first trimester, I have five classes with lunch in the middle. Each one lasts 72 minutes with 6 minutes of passing time to get to the next room. I have Psychology, Gym, English, Global Issues, and Biology until Thanksgiving break.

I have no idea how to work the combination lock on my locker, but Catherine shows me and watches me practice until I do it right. I put everything inside except for the binder and notebook I plan on taking to Psychology, then walk with them to the classroom.

I'm not sure why people are staring, but it's impossible not to notice. Everyone's eyes are on us, and no one else has chaperones with them. I wonder why that is. I don't think about it for long, though, because my stomach sinks with the imminent goodbye.

"I don't want you to go," I say to both of them while staring at my feet.

"The day will fly by," Catherine says. "Watch. You'll be fine. Don't forget, your gym clothes are in your locker. You'll need to get those before you head to gym."

"Okay."

She kisses my cheek. "Have a wonderful day. I know you'll have a boatload of friends by the time it's over. I'll give you two a moment; Jackson, I'll be in the car."

He waves over his shoulder, then turns back to face me. "You gonna be okay?" he asks.

I nod, though I'm unsure. I don't know how else to answer, though. There's no way I'd be able to leave now. I can't get out of this. I have to get through.

"Anyone messes with you, just tell me," he says. "I will fucking kick their ass."

"Okay," I whisper, then jump as the warning bell rings. "What does that mean?" I ask.

"Time to head in," he says, then holds my face with both hands. "I'll miss you today, beautiful."

My face radiates with heat at those words, and I close my eyes and smile. He kisses me slowly, gently, until someone clears their throat loudly right next to us.

"I'm not sure what you think you're doing with such blatant PDA, but I'd advise you to read the handbook," an older woman says. "No touching. No kissing. Get to class before I write you up."

I break away from Jackson with fear and surprise, but all he does is roll his eyes as she walks away. "Old bitch," he says, then checks left and right before pecking me on the lips again. "I'll be outside at 2:45, when you get out. We'll go get ice cream or something, okay? I'll see you then."

"Okay," I say, the nervous jumpy feeling spreading all over my body.

"Okay," he says, then nods with finality. "You gotta get in there, babe."

"Okay," I say, then take one step nearer to the door as he turns around. "Wait, Jackson."

He looks over his shoulder casually. "Yeah?"

"I love you," I whisper, urgently. "Can I say that here? I love you?"

He laughs, happiness breaking up the tension on his face. "Yeah. I love you, too, kitty. A lot. Write me notes today, or something. I'm gonna miss your face so damn much."

"Okay," I say, for the thousandth time.

"Anyone in the hall better find their classroom!" a voice shouts.

"You gotta go," he says, urging me along with a smile in his eyes. "I'll see you in a few hours."

I nod, then disappear into my first high school class ever. A lot of the desks are already occupied, but I find one in the front row and sink low into the seat, shoulders hunched by my ears. I flatten my hands over the cover of my Psychology book and keep my eyes on the teacher; I can't bear to look around the room because I know people must be looking at me.

"Bull fucking shit," I hear from behind. "She didn't tell me that."

"Yeah, and why would she tell you? I'm not even supposed to be telling you right now."

"I don't believe it. You seriously fucked Meredith at that party?"

"Yeah. And in her parents' bed, too."

"That's kinda fucked up, if you think about it."

"Yeah, well it happened."

I crinkle my forehead and raise my upper lip, disturbed at the topic of conversation. I didn't know it was a regular thing for high school students to be having sex, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Me and Jackson are doing it; but I thought we were different.

"She was fucking flexible, dude. She sucked me off for like, ever, too."

I cringe again, unable to believe that I'm really hearing this. Is this honestly something that people my age talk about in public?

"What was her pussy like? Was it shaved? All natural?"

"You already know it was shaved. Come on."

I widen my eyes, lean forward, and bury my face in my hands. I already want to disappear and class hasn't even started.

"Hey, can you two pigs shut up for one second?" another voice says.

It's the girl sitting right next to me - she has shiny white teeth and pretty, curly hair. She wearing intricate makeup that I've never seen before - sparkles on her eyelids and subtle red lipstick on her mouth. I wonder how she did it so well.

"Save it for later. You're so fucking gross."

"Stop listening, then," one boy laughs. "What are you, gay?"

"I have ears, dumbass," she snaps, which earns her a series of 'ooooohs' from the two behind us. She turns to me after and quietly says, "Sorry. Just try to ignore them. They're really gross."

"Oh," I say, put on the spot. I don't know why, but I blush. "Thanks. I… I… yeah. It was just… yeah."

"They're idiots," she says. "Dumb boys. Are you new?"

I nod and blink a few times, rendered silent apparently.

"Cool. I'm Stephanie. People just call me Steph, though. Where'd you move from?"

"Uh… Otsego," I say.

"Never heard of it," she says, shrugging. "Welcome to Huron. You know anybody here?"

I shake my head no.

"Can I see your schedule real quick?" she asks, and I open my binder to take it out and hand it over. "Oh, cool. We have the same lunch. Maybe I'll see you. Wanna sit together?"

"Sure," I say, hope lighting up in my chest.

"Nice," she says, then the teacher stands up to start our lesson.

…

Steph and I part ways after Psychology and I feel lonely when she leaves. I'm not used to being alone and having to fend for myself - for my whole life, there's always been someone by my side. Usually, a sister or three.

I find my way to the gym on my own, though, clutching my gym bag while I walk inside. The room is huge with rubber floors and concrete walls; I've never been inside a place this big. It makes me feel tiny, especially with everyone's voices reverberating off the walls.

I flock with everyone else while the gym teacher tells us to separate and change into our workout clothes. She points the girls in one direction and the boys in another, and I bring up the rear as we head into the right half of the private rooms.

They all start changing immediately, but I freeze, unsure of what to do. I stand in front of an open locker, but I can't seem to put down my bag. I stare inside it, mortified that there are nearly-naked bodies all around me while I look at the dust mites in the corner. Is this normal?

Most of the girls filter out, then the gym teacher comes in. "Get going, girls!" she barks. "We're gonna get right on it today. No lazy days." She looks at me, still fully dressed. "You new?" she asks. I nod. "Welcome. Get dressed and get your butt out there."

Disjointedly, I set my bag down and pull off my shirt. I stand there in my bra and jeans, totally exposed, and hear whispers come from behind me. I'm tempted to look towards the source, but figure it's better to mind my own business. I tug my gym shirt over my head and change out of my pants quicker than ever, then lace up my tennis shoes without even looking up.

"Just so you know, new girl," someone says as they pass me. "Arizona Robbins was totally checking you out. You should watch out for her."

I squint at her, this sandy-haired girl, at a loss for words. "I…" I stammer, but nothing else comes out.

"She's _gay_ ," the girl hisses, and I continue to frown. We stare at each other for a long time, and it's clear she expects me to respond, but I have no idea what's going on.

"Okay," I say, and the girl rolls her eyes before walking away in a huff.

I get up a few moments later, feeling bouncy in my new athletic shoes, when someone else brushes up beside me while walking.

"Hey," she says. "Don't worry. You're not my type."

I blink hard, still thoroughly confused. "What?" I say.

"What Meredith said," she continues. "I wasn't checking you out like that. I was looking at you 'cause I didn't recognize you. I didn't know there was a new kid."

"Oh…" I say. "Yeah."

"But it wasn't like that," she says. "I'm not creepy."

"Why… would it be creepy?" I ask.

"Well," she says, confused now too. "It's not really okay to look at other girls in the locker room. Even if you are gay. That's just a gross thing to do."

"Gay…?" I say, voice rising at the end.

Her eyebrows lower. "I like girls, honey," she says. "Everyone knows. I'm gay."

"Oh," I say, realizing. I've never heard that word before. "Oh…"

"Yeah," she says, then bumps me with her hip as we re-enter the gym. "You're cute, but I tend to go for brunettes. See you around."

Unsure how to take that reaction, I frown and try to piece everything together that I just learned. Girls can like girls, which I assume means that boys can like boys, too. I never knew that. It opens up a whole new world of questions that I'll have to remember to ask Jackson later. He might know.

…

When it's time for lunch, I make my way to the cafeteria and stand in the entrance while watching everyone else go through the motions. I have no idea where to start.

"Need some help?" someone asks, and I turn to see one of the guys from Psychology, the one with the unkempt, dark hair. It looks like a crow's nest. "I'm Derek. I think you sit in front of me in Psych."

"Yeah…" I say, and clutch my lunch close to my chest. "Um…"

"April!" I hear, then see Steph waving from a nearby table. "Over here!"

"I… I gotta go," I say, then hurry and sit down next to her, sighing with relief.

"God, do not let him get near you," she says. "He'll sleep with anything that walks. He'll definitely try and get you in bed." She looks at me and raises her eyebrows. "And you don't strike me as the type of girl who'd be cool with that."

"I… no," I say, shaking my head while unfurling the brown paper bag. "I have a boyfriend."

"Oh, look at you!" she says. "Alright, good for you. Does he go here?"

"No," I say. "He's gonna start at U of M in a couple days."

She makes an impressed sound. "College boy," she says. "Well, damn."

I smile a little while picturing him in my head. I miss him a lot, and can't wait until the school day is over so I can see him.

"So, did you move here for him?" she asks.

"Um…" I say, unsure of how to answer that question. "Um… kind of. I moved off my family's farm and we came here. I used to be homeschooled. This is my first year in real school."

"Oh, shit," she says. "No wonder you've been looking like a fish out of water all day. Why did you move away from the farm?"

Thinking about it puts me in a bad place that I don't want to return to, so I just shrug. I pick at the orange that Jackson packed in my lunch and shed the peel with my fingernails.

"Alright, we don't have to talk about it," she says lightly. "You kinda remind me of this friend I used to have, Izzie. She moved away a couple years ago after she got cancer, then went into remission. She always put me in a good mood. You guys have sort of the same vibe."

I smile at that. "Really?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says. "I like it."

"Does that mean we're friends?" I ask. I just want to make sure.

She laughs, though I'm not sure what's funny. "Yeah," she says, then wraps an arm around me to jostle me playfully. "Best buddies."

…

I pay full attention in English and soak up everything the teacher has to say. She doesn't go into much detail because it's only the first class, but I answer almost every question. And every time she calls on me, I get it right. I feel a bursting warmth in my chest that might be something like pride.

In Global Issues, I can't help but zone out as the teacher drones on and on about the expectations this year. As he talks, I pull out my red notebook and pen, then let my thoughts wander to Jackson.

I smile to myself as I think about seeing him. All I want is to run into his arms, hug and kiss him, and tell him about everything that happened today. I have so many questions, and a ton of stories.

I want to hear about his day, too, that he spent at college orientation. He was more worried about me and it didn't seem like he had time to be nervous, but I still wonder if he was. I hope he has a lot of funny things to tell me about, because I love when he tells me stories that make me laugh. Maybe he made a friend, too.

I swirl my pen over the paper and write one simple phrase. It's all I really need to write.

 _You're all I can think about…_

…

When the last bell rings, I feel a lot of things. I'm excited that I get to see Jackson, but also impressed overall at how well my first day went. It was scary, but not traumatizing like I thought it would be. People were curious about me because I was the new kid, but that was it. They didn't think I was some freaky farm girl. To them, I'm just another kid from a different town.

As I gather my backpack and shove everything inside, including first day homework, Steph comes up behind me. "Hey," she says. "Are you trying out for any fall sports?"

I look at her confusedly as I zip up my bag and throw it on my shoulders. "What?" I say.

"Tryouts for volleyball, tennis and cross are tomorrow."

"Cross?" I ask, but that's not the only word I don't recognize. The other two ring somewhat of a bell, but I'm not quite sure what they are. "I've never done anything like that before. What's sports?"

"What are sports," she giggles. "You really don't know?"

I shake my head as we make our way out to the parking lot.

"Oh," she says. "Well, uh, they're like organized games. It's a competition sort of deal. You play on a team, and it's pretty fun. Well, volleyball and tennis you're on a team. Tennis, kind of, I guess. Cross country you're on a team as a whole, but it's focused more on independent running. Do you like to run?"

"From what?" I ask.

She laughs, and I try to join in though I'm not really sure what was funny.

"You crack me up," she says. "Wait. Don't look now, but some guy is totally staring at you."

I look over and see Jackson leaning against his car and my whole body flickers with excitement. I gasp and smile, then clutch my backpack straps. "That's my boyfriend," I say, and it might be the first time I've ever gotten to say it out loud. I can't resist saying it again. "My boyfriend, that's my boyfriend right there."

I wave at him with one arm above my head and giggle uncontrollably when he waves back.

"He's hot," Steph says. "Get yours, girl."

I look at her while wearing the wild smile he gave me, and she's smiling back. "I should go," I say. "But see you tomorrow?"

"You got it," she says. "For tryouts?"

"Uh, sure!" I say, already walking away. "I can run!"

"Sounds good!"

I turn around fully then and sprint towards Jackson, backpack slamming against my back with every step. He laughs while watching me, and catches me swiftly in his arms when I finally arrive. I wrap my limbs around him and he spins me in a circle, kissing my face like it's been years since we've seen each other instead of only hours.

Without letting my feet touch the ground, we look into each other's eyes and grin. I press my nose to his and he nuzzles the tip, kissing my lips gently after.

"I wrote you a note today," I say softly, framing his face with my hands.

"Yeah?" he says, hitching me a little higher with his hands under my butt. "Is that all you did?"

I laugh and tilt my head, then press my lips to his. When I pull away, I say, "Yeah, basically…"

"What are we sending you to school for then, kitty?" he asks, still joking.

I shrug and laugh, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs while I kiss him again. "I missed you so much," I say. "Did you miss me?"

He nods and kisses both my cheeks, one after the other.

"How much?" I ask.

He sets me down and I stand in front of him, hands flat on his chest. "Get in the car," he says, then steals one more quick peck on my lips. "And I'll tell you."


	16. Chapter 16

_This is the last chapter before the epilogue! Please don't forget to review._

…

 **JACKSON**

When my girl comes rocketing across the parking lot, I feel nothing but unadulterated happiness. The smile on her face is wide and uncontrollable and she's completely unbridled in how she expresses her joy. She's come so far in showing her emotions now that she's free, and I've been soaking up every moment.

She leaps into my arms with a gleeful shriek, and her body collides with mine at full force. Entwined around me like a vine, I spin once and kiss her face all over, surprised at how badly I missed her when she was only gone for a couple hours.

We get in the car, and April is a bundle of energy. She tosses her backpack in the back seat like she's been doing it all her life, then leans over the console to kiss my cheek playfully.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all day," she gushes, and I take her hand and kiss the knuckles repeatedly.

"That makes two of us," I say. "Wait. Hold on. Let me look at you."

She turns to face me, beaming. Her freckles stand out in the September afternoon light, twinkling against her sun-kissed skin. I study her features, stroke my pretend beard, and nod a few times.

"What?" she says, giggling. "What are you looking at?"

"Yep, I thought so," I say. "You got prettier while you were gone."

"Jackson!" she sings, batting me away and shaking her head. Her hair tumbles behind her shoulders and her eyes pinch closed as she laughs, pushing on my chest. "I did not. Be quiet."

"You did, though," I say, cupping one cheek and laughing along with her. "You wanna go get some ice cream?"

"Hmm… no," she says, which surprises me.

"What? My baby turning down sweets?" I say, eyebrows up. "Did I hear you right?"

"I wanna go home…" she says, both hands on one of my thighs now, dangerously high. "I wanna go home and have me and you time."

"Oh," I say, eyes wide with a smile on my lips. "I see. I see… alright. Let's do it, then, high school girl. Let's go home."

She's bouncy in the car, tossing her hair to the tune of the beat on the radio, all smiles. "I like this song," she says.

It's _Despacito_ by Justin Bieber, a song that easily the rest of the world hates and has hated for months now, so I can't help but laugh.

"I'll download it for you," I say.

"Like I know what that means," she giggles. "Wait. Do I have a phone now?"

"Yep," I tell her, proudly. "Bright and shiny and new, just for you. Mom dropped it off earlier. You're on our plan."

"What's the plan?"

I laugh softly. "Don't worry about it."

We take the long way home and she sticks one arm out the window, closing her eyes against the sunshine with a serene smile on her face. Her hair billows around her head until we slow down and pull up in the driveway, coming to a stop outside our apartment building.

"We're home!" she sings, grabbing her backpack before tumbling out of the car and bounding towards the gate. I watch her from a few steps behind, grinning bemusedly at her childlike glee. "Are you coming? You have the keys, keys man."

"Sure do," I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulders while I unlock the front door with my free hand. When it comes open, I give her a quick kiss on the temple before walking inside, and she hurries ahead in pursuit of the rectangular box on the counter.

"My phone!" she says, then unboxes it. She gasps, stares at the black, shiny screen, and turns it back and forth. She presses a few buttons and nothing comes of it, so she looks at me with confusion. "It's broken."

"It's not broken, kitty," I say, smiling. "I'll just have to activate it for you later. But right now, I wanna hear about your day."

She sets the phone down and kicks her shoes off, giggling high-pitched and mischievous while scampering down the hall towards our bedroom.

"Gotta catch me first!" she shrieks, socked feet flying.

I smirk to myself and follow her, keeping my pace at a slow walk. When I peek my head into our bedroom, her jeans are already on the floor and she's lying flat on the bed in her bra and underwear, knees bent.

"You're slow," she says, still grinning.

"You're in some type of hurry," I say playfully, sauntering over to join her. I sit down and she pushes herself up on her knees, winding her arms around my neck to put her face close to mine. She kisses my cheek first, nuzzling it with her nose after, then moves to my ear. She takes the lobe between her lips first, then her teeth as she sucks on it gently.

Of course, my body reacts. It's her. But still, I don't want to gloss over the fact that she just completed her very first day of school ever.

"What did you do today?" I ask, hands on her waist as she lifts on knee to straddle me. I drag my fingers up and down her bumpy spine while she looks into my eyes, weighing what she wants to say.

"Hmm…" she says, leaning forward to kiss my neck. I'm half hard at this point, hands mapping across the expanse of her back. I love the way she feels on top of me; I can't help it. "I made a friend."

"For real?"

She nods, closing her lips around my Adam's apple. "Her name's Steph."

"Nice," I say. "What's she like?"

"I don't wanna think about Steph while I'm making out with you," she says, and I laugh.

"Fair. How were your classes?"

She shrugs one shoulder in a typical high school fashion. "Fine," she says, pressing her torso flush to mine. I feel her belly as it moves in and out, and I smile to myself. Her stomach is one of my favorite parts of her body - soft and vulnerable, pale and cute.

"Did you learn anything?" I ask, lying on my back and taking her with me.

A small gust of air escapes her as we both hit the mattress, and she exhales into my mouth. I let my hands skim lower on her back until I reach her ass, then take two firm handfuls to jiggle the extra skin.

"I learned what gay means," she says, right after I slip my hands inside her underwear to touch her skin-on-skin. "Do you know about that?"

I resist the urge to laugh, because it's not funny. Well, it is and it's not. It's not funny how sheltered she was, but it's funny that she thinks I might not know, either. We really have been living in two entirely different worlds.

"Yeah," I say. "How'd you learn about that?"

She sits up and rests her weight on my stomach, knees bent under her, hands pressing on my ribcage. "This girl said some other girl was looking at me because she thought I was pretty, or something. Like… in a gay way? But then, the actual girl said that wasn't it. She just didn't know who I was. She said it was gross to check out other girls in the locker room, even if you are gay." She pauses for a moment, and I stare at her pensive face while she relives the story. "Girls can like girls?" she asks. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah," I say, running two hands up her sides to hold her ribs. "And guys can like guys, too."

"Oh," she says, eyebrows furrowing. She's quiet for a long moment, and I'm pretty sure of what's going through her mind. "With… sex…" she stammers, somewhat troubled. "How?"

"Well," I say, clearing my throat. "My mom can go in more detail, if you want. She's the expert. But all I know is that anal sex is an option for gay men, also oral. Lesbians can do oral, too - anyone can. You just need a mouth. And there's plenty of like, toys and stuff."

"Toys?" she says.

I take a deep breath. "Remember how I used my electric toothbrush on you, the second time I got you off?"

Her cheeks blush tomato-red. She covers them with her hands, looks away, and nods.

"Well, it's kinda like that. Except for way better than a toothbrush. I'm probably giving the worst fuckin' explanation ever, though, and not doing these people any justice. So, if you want someone smart to tell you, ask my mom."

"You're smart," she says, leaning forward to rest her forearms on my chest. "You're very smart."

I chuckle and mess with the clip of her bra as she touches my nose with hers. "You know, you're the first person besides my mom to ever tell me that," I say.

"Why?" she asks. "You got into all those colleges. They all wanted you."

I shrug. "My name helps. I get good grades, but I always acted like a dumb fuck in school. I don't know. With you around… you made me realize I don't have to be like that. I don't know why I was doing it. You make me wanna try. You make me wanna be better."

Her eyes, half-lidded, blink all the way closed as she kisses me slow and soft on the mouth. She frames my face with her hands and lingers for a while, and I keep a good hold around her lower back.

When she pulls away, I tuck a piece of flyaway hair behind her ear and look at her gentle features. The graceful slope of her nose covered in freckles, her long, curly eyelashes, her perfect, bow-shaped lips. This close up, she almost looks like a painting. Like she's not even real.

A while later, I get April on her back, legs spread with her underwear finally off. She has her hands on my head, running her fingers through my growing hair, and her eyes on my face.

I try and keep my eyes on hers, but they're tempted to look somewhere a bit different. I'm obsessed with her body, and knowing the most intimate part by heart is like a drug for me. No one else - absolutely no one - has seen her like this. She hasn't even been kissed by anyone else but me. I have every part of her.

Good thing she has every part of me, too.

I stroke her casually while I begin to kiss her outer lips, dragging my thumb through the wiry curls between her legs. I feel her heartbeat located inside her body, and it's my plan to make it speed up as much as possible. I flatten my tongue and lick her while keeping a steady rhythm, and watch her face contort from how good it feels.

"Mmm… Jackson," she moans, lifting her hips. She tugs on my ears forcefully, which makes me laugh low my throat. "Oh!" she whimpers, responding to the rumble of my voice against her heat. "Do that again. Please, god, do it again."

I press my lips together over her clit and shake my head back and forth, buzzing my lips just slightly and humming while I go. She gasps dramatically, ribs pushing through her skin as she loses her breath, and reaches to grip the slats of the headboard to stay grounded to earth.

"Ugh, god!" she says loudly, throwing her head to the side.

I wear a smile on my face while I keep at her, putting pressure on just the right spots while stimulating her all over. Her body begins to shake and her expression turns desperate, thighs slackening as wide as they'll go, and she comes with one short, loud scream and a jerk of her entire form.

I continue to lick her while she comes down, stroking her belly with my fingers softly. I pull away and watch with satisfaction as her arousal drips out from her pulsing lips, very slowly between them until it reaches the swell of her ass. I bury my face between her thighs again and slowly clean her with my tongue, making sure I cover every last inch before resurfacing.

She's panting when I look at her again, face red and chest redder. She glances at me, still perched between her legs, and flashes an exhausted smile when I run my nose through her tight curls and plant a deliberate kiss over them.

"Jackie," she says, and I let the nickname slide. I would never, in a million years, let someone else get away with calling me that, but she's much more than 'someone else.'

"What, baby," I say, kissing the soft skin below her bellybutton.

"Do you want me to shave there?"

I look up at her face, hands on her stomach, eyes intent. "What makes you say that?" I ask.

She shrugs and looks away, and I kiss the inside of her thigh to get her attention back. "Did someone say something to you?" I ask, already defensive. If someone is making fun of her at school, I'll make sure it never happens again. No one gets to treat her poorly - not anymore.

"No," she says. "Well, yeah. Kind of. I heard something."

"Heard what?"

"Some boy talking about how this girl he was with had it shaved," she says, quietly, like he's in the room and he'll hear. "And it seemed like he liked it. Do you not like that I have… hair there?"

"Number one," I begin. "It's your body. What you like, you keep. It's completely in your control, kitty, and I mean that. And number two, I happen to love your hair. It's so completely you. I wouldn't know what to do if you were shaven like some hairless cat."

She giggles and snorts, stomach moving in and out as she laughs. "Okay," she says.

"Okay," I repeat. "And we can keep talking about this kind of stuff, you know. If you have questions. I'm here to answer all your shit."

"Okay."

"Good."

"I have one more," she says, a glint in her eye.

"What's that?"

"Can we have sex now?"

I give her a smile as my answer and tuck my face into her neck to drop kisses there. She winds her arms around my back and hugs me tight, leaning her head away so I have plenty of access to her warm, dewy skin.

A few moments later, I pull away and reach for the nightstand with my erection between us. She grips my shoulders and asks, "What are you doing?"

"Grabbing a condom," I say. "Figured we should probably start… you know, if we're gonna be having sex regularly. I'm not ready for a kid, are you?"

Her eyes widen as she shakes her head. "No, no, no," she says.

I don't let any space come between our bodies while I make love to her. She presses her forehead against my neck and claws at my shoulder blades, and I kiss every inch of her skin I can reach. She's full of smiles, gasps, and sighs, and I keep my eyes trained on her face. She's everything I never knew to hope for. Everything I never thought I'd deserve.

I hold off and make sure she comes first, just because I know the sight of her letting go will push me over the edge. When she grits her teeth and furrows her eyebrows, jaw dropping to let out a desperate gasp, I know she's ready for it to happen. I slam my hips harder against hers and get my mouth on her nipples, grazing my teeth over them until she clenches my body between her thighs and lets it go with a long, salacious moan.

While I come, I nip at her jaw and earlobes and listen to her pant in my ear. I shove my pelvis forward a few more long, lasting times, until I collapse on top of her, completely spent and sated.

"I love you," she says, blinking slowly while stroking my head, neck and shoulders. "And I'm tired, but also hungry."

We order a pizza and eat it in bed with the TV on. It's an episode of _Parks and Rec_ , a show I personally don't find funny, but April cracks up at every joke. I come to realize she's never experienced TV before, so I don't rag on her show choices.

A little while later, she falls asleep in her underwear and a big t-shirt of mine, pizza crust lain across her stomach. She's spread out diagonally, one arm bent above her head and the other strewn across her hips, mouth open as she breathes deeply. It's barely 8, but she had a long, tiring day. I won't wake her up. Instead, I sit there wired and let my thoughts run wild.

My orientation was today, and I never expected to feel like such a small fish in a big pond. Back in Chicago, people knew me. I was somebody. But at U of M, that's far from the truth. I blend in with everyone else and, while that's probably a good thing, it'll take some getting used to. I'm not sure how to go about making a good name for myself, or if I should bother at all. I've never been somewhere where my reputation hasn't preceded me. This is brand new territory.

At the same time, though, I feel guilty being overwhelmed because it's nothing compared to what April is going through. She's barely been exposed to society, and I'm whining about being nervous for college. She has every right to be the one still freaking out, but she seems to be adjusting fine.

I lean over and kiss her shoulder before getting out of bed, leaving the TV on so she won't wake up. I wander into the dining room and find her red notebook on the table, face-down. For the first time, I don't pick it up. I have the maturity to resist now, unlike before. What she puts in there is private; it's where she can write down her thoughts without being judged. Maybe I need something like that.

I meander aimlessly through the apartment, making sure everything is locked up while my mind continues at a mile a minute. I can't seem to get settled, and I don't feel good walking around alone. So, I make it back to the bedroom and stand in the door for a moment, just watching her.

She's still asleep like I left her, pizza crust and all. I can't help but chuckle lightly at the sight of her, completely uninhibited. I can't wait to see her like this for the rest of our lives - once I gave myself over to her, there was no going back. There's no way that someday, she won't be my wife.

My future is so clear with April in it. Before, it was always muddled and hard to imagine. I had no idea where I was headed, no less how to get there. But now, I'm confident I'll be able to figure it out with my favorite girl by my side. I have everything I've ever needed, and she's shown me that.

Before her, the thought of having kids never crossed my mind. Not once. But seeing her like this, so comfortable, so at-home, so free, I know we'll create a beautiful life to share with children. I can already see her with our babies, teaching them how to walk, feeding them at the table, playing in the backyard. She'll be perfect. And she'll teach me how to be good, too.

I'm not sure where we'll make a home in the future. For us, and for them. I don't know a thing about Ann Arbor, and I'm not that familiar with St. Joe, either, where the lake house is. The place I know the best, the place I know every nook and cranny of, is Chicago. I know it's not home anymore and it can't ever be again, but that doesn't stop a part of me from still wanting to go back. Without all the shit going on, of course. I wish there was some way to erase all of that and show April the city I grew up in and fell in love with. I'm sure it would scare the piss out of her, but I'd be there to protect her.

Not how I left it, though. That's too much to be protected from, and I'd be in danger, too. I would never put her in jeopardy like that. But still, there's a hole in my heart knowing that my first home will never be my home again.

But our lives don't have to be in Chicago to be wonderful. They can be wonderful anywhere, doing anything. I know that perfectly well as I look at her, spread-eagle and covered in pizza crumbs. She can make anything good.

…

I activated April's phone for her while I couldn't sleep, and when I wake up the next morning, she's already on it. She's clutching it in both hands, eyes glued to the screen, the sound at full volume while she leans against my back and plays Candy Crush.

"Any louder and you'll go deaf," I say, voice muffled by the pillow.

"Oh, you're up," she says. "I'm playing this game."

"I hear."

The series of dings and bings continues while she presses her back against mine, and I roll over to wrap my arms around her waist. She keeps the phone close, still playing, even as I slip a hand inside her shirt to dance over her ribcage.

"Jackson," she says, squirming away. "I almost beat this level."

I huff and steal a glance at the screen. "How long have you been up?" I ask.

She shrugs. I look at the phone again.

"Long enough to be on level 15," I say, then kiss the side of her face. "It's time to get ready for school."

"You?" she asks, without tearing her eyes away.

"No, knucklehead," I say. "You."

She giggles and presses her chin to her chest, still entranced. I do the only thing I can think of and slip the phone out of her grip, clicking off the screen once I do. "Hey!" she says. "You made me lose a life!"

"Unless you wanna be late…" I say, hoisting her up to rest on my stomach. "You have to get in the shower. Don't you have cross country tryouts today?"

"Yeah," she says. "But maybe I could be on the Candy Crush team instead."

"Shut your mouth," I say, laughing.

"Are you gonna be there?" she asks, tipping her head to one side.

She presses her hands flat against my chest and situates her hips, which makes me harder than I'd like to admit. Just the feeling of her center resting on me, emanating heat, is enough to get me going. She's everything with her messed-up bedhead, bleary eyes, and dusty freckles.

"Wouldn't miss it," I say. "I do have a campus tour today at 6, though."

"We can go there after," she says. "Tryouts are at 4."

"We?" I say.

"I gotta come with you," she says, kissing my chin before opening her mouth and playfully biting it. "You've been with me for every step. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't do the same?"

"A horrible one," I say, lifting her shirt to expose her naked sides. I drag my fingernails over them, and she purrs with her face tucked into my neck.

"You said I had to get up…" she whines, hugging my torso with her knees. "But you're not making it very easy."

"I know," I agree, kissing the corner of her jaw. "But we should."

"How about I get in the shower, and you make me a very fortifying breakfast?" she says, hopping off. I'm left lying there with a tent made of my boxers and a throbbing dick. It's not fair.

"Anything for you, Sporty Spice," I say.

"And lunch, too?" she says, batting her eyelashes in the way she knows will get me. "Thanks, baby!"

After she disappears into the bathroom, I lie there with my eyes on the ceiling and chuckle to myself. She has me wrapped around her finger, and I think she's begun to realize it.

…

I'm a bit out of place as I sit in the stands and watch April on the track with a bunch of other teenage girls, but I try and ignore the feeling. I was in high school not that long ago, but since then I feel like I've aged much more than I actually have.

Still, it's cute to see her out there watching the other girls stretch and copying their movements. She's in a pair of neon pink athletic shorts and a black racerback tank top, orange sports bra showing through it. Before going out onto the track, she'd caught up with me and asked if her outfit was inappropriate because her bra was visible, and I spent a good five minutes convincing her it was fine.

She waves at me with a beaming smile before the drills start, and I shoot her one back. She's the fucking cutest. And a damn fast runner, too - faster than I thought she'd be. By the time tryouts are over, she's outrun almost every other girl in sprints and I have no doubt she'll make it onto the team.

"How was I?" she pants, drinking from a green Gatorade water bottle while walking out of the stadium and towards the locker room, where she'll shower.

"Fuckin' amazing, kitty," I say. "You didn't tell me you're fast as hell."

"Raced my sisters," she says, still out of breath. "Always won."

"I can tell," I say, then pat her ass while she heads into the gym. "Meet me out here after."

I lean against the car while I wait and can't help worrying about the tour. Not because I'm nervous for the actual thing, it should be fun - especially with April there. But I'm worried because with every day that passes, the start of school gets closer. The concept of college has always scared me, and now that it's more real than ever, I'm terrified. I don't feel ready at all.

"I'm ready!" April calls, halfway across the parking lot. Her hair lies in wet, bouncy curls on her shoulders, and she's back in her regular clothes - a thigh-length bouncy skirt and a camisole with a cardigan over it.

"Hey, sexy," I say, then open the driver's side.

She rolls her eyes and throws her stuff in the back. "Be quiet," she says.

She dances along to the radio as we make the drive to campus, and I watch her from the corner of my eye. It doesn't take too long, but her hair has dried into spirals by the time we find a parking spot.

"Alright," I say. "Let's find my group."

She takes my hand as we wind through campus, almost getting lost a handful of times before I find the people I'm supposed to be matched with. In my group are others who haven't declared a major yet, and are also living off-campus. They wanted to pair us with as many like-minded people as they could, I guess.

It's hard for me to pay attention to the leader, but April does for the both of us. She lets go of my hand and writes notes in the red notebook, chewing on the end of her pen as she listens.

I watch her, and notice other people watching her, too. At first, it's benign. A mom's eyes on her, or a little sibling's. I start to get pissed, though, when I notice a bunch of other guys' eyes on her. All over, from the top of her head, to her ass, to her legs - they make sure to cover every inch.

"Baby," I say, trying to keep my voice low and casual. "Baby."

Still, she doesn't hear. She's caught up in whatever's being said, just like I should be.

"April," I say. "Kitty."

"Hmm?" she says, eyebrows up as she turns to look.

I take one glance at her face and soften instantly. I wind an arm around her lower back and pull her body flush to mine, letting the other guys know without words spoken that she's taken.

By the time the tour is over, my arm is still around April and she has one hand resting over mine as we walk back to the car. She's going over her notes and I'm staring down this idiot who can't seem to take a hint. He's walking the same path we are, eyes still glued to my girlfriend.

I keep my eyes on him, burning into his skin, and squeeze her closer while she talks. She breaks for a moment, giggling, then continues. When he still doesn't look away, I kiss her cheek while she's in the middle of explaining something, and she squeals with amusement.

"Jackson," she says, stutter-stepping to match my footsteps. "Stop... what are you doing?"

I debate painting over the truth, but then decide better of it. "Guys back there were looking at you," I say.

"What?" she says. "When did it become a crime to look at people?"

"In a way they shouldn't," I finish, tying up the loose ends for her. "They shouldn't have their eyes on you like that. You're… I don't know. Mine."

"Of course I am," she says, flipping closed the notebook with a small sound. "We both know that. So, why do you have to prove it to random men?"

I shrug. "It's stupid, I guess. It's a guy thing."

"Sounds territorial," she notes.

"Well, kind of," I say. "I just don't want anybody getting the wrong idea. I don't want anyone to hurt you or touch you or anything like that."

She furrows her eyebrows. "Someone would touch me?" She inhales deeply and lets it out. "Like what happened to my mom?"

"No, no," I say. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry, kitty. I just… I just don't want guys getting any ideas. I know how they think. So… I just kinda get protective of you. You're important to me. So, it's second nature."

She replants my hand on her hip and keeps it there with a firm pat. "You keep me safe," she says, then turns to nuzzle my nose. "And I'll keep you safe, too."

…

The night before my first day of school is a Sunday. I'm lying in bed and April is on her stomach doing homework, ankles crossed near my head. I have one hand resting on her ass while I stare into space, thinking about everything and nothing.

I listen to the subtle scratch of her pencil on paper and I'm comforted by it. I'm comforted by her presence alone alongside me; that's all I need. We don't need to say a single word, this is enough. This is how we find ourselves most nights, content in our bed, doing whatever.

When she finishes, she puts her supplies on the floor and rests her head on her folded hands.

"Do you think Allie is okay?" she asks, out of the blue.

I blink hard, orienting myself while trying to figure out how to answer the question. "I would hope so," I say, giving her the truth. I don't know for certain, and she's aware of that. She doesn't know, either. There's no way we could.

"Me, too," she whispers, sounding introspective. "I just wish there was a way to rescue her."

"I know," I say, and stroke the back of her thigh with my thumb. "I know."

"But what can we do?" she asks.

I sigh. "Wait," I say. "And hope she'll leave, too, once she turns 18."

"She will," April says. "I know she will. And she'll find us. She just has to know where to look."

"You should try and write to her," I suggest.

She sits with that for a moment before saying, "I will. Yeah, I will."

A while later she sits up, cross-legged, and faces me. "Hey, beautiful," I say, both hands folded behind my head now.

A soft smile graces her lips as she crawls over and rests her body right on top of mine. She leans her head against my chest and lets her legs fall between mine, and I hold her close.

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" she asks.

"I'm going fuckin' crazy," I admit, with a laugh.

"Baby…" she says, lifting up to cup my jaw. "What can I do?"

I shrug and move my lips to one side. "You're already doing it," I say.

"I can make you feel good," she offers, drawing slow circles over my bare skin with a fingernail.

"You don't have to," I say.

"You don't want to?"

"Well, I didn't say that," I reply. "I said, you don't _have_ to. But, if you want to…"

"I do," she says, inching backwards to pull my sweatpants off. I watch her with amused fascination while she strokes the bulge through my boxers, and she keeps a devious eye on me, too.

She doesn't suck me off frequently, so when she does, I relish it. She gets better every time, and I've been trying to get better than lasting for all of five seconds. She's into swallowing now, too. She always comes up smiling, which is baffling to me, but it turns me on like nothing else. She's a fucking phenomenon.

We fuck hard and rough, and it works - it takes my mind completely off school tomorrow that feels like impending doom. Instead, I stay focused on her and the way her body responds to me. I memorize her facial expressions so I can recall them tomorrow when I have to spend a day without her, and count the freckles on the bridge of her nose. She sighs my name and clutches my shoulders, digs her nails into my neck, and moans loudly when she falls apart.

I spend my orgasm with my face in her neck, hips jerking forcefully against her pelvis. I drink in the way she smells and tastes, and know I could never forget a single thing about her.

"You'll be fine tomorrow," she tells me, once it's over. I'm still lying on top of her, practically crushing her small form with my body weight. She doesn't seem to mind, though - she's tickling my back like it's nothing at all. "I know you will. If I was fine on my first day, you definitely will be."

There's truth in that, I know. It doesn't exactly calm my irrational nerves, but the logic helps me to gain a clearer perspective. Tomorrow will be fine and it'll be done before I know it. Then, I can come back home and be with her.

She falls asleep while I'm still on top of her, probably exhausted from cross country practice. I do my best at not waking her as I roll off and clean up the condom mess, and glance back at her as she drifts off, completely naked and uncaring. I love her best like this.

I drift in and out of sleep sporadically for a few hours once I go back to bed, but it's restless and shallow. After a while, I give up and just lie there, staring out the screen door opposite April. The night is sparkling, and I don't want to let it go.

"April," I whisper, one hand on her soft belly. "Baby."

"Mmm…" she groans, turning onto her side and wrapping her arms around herself. She must be cold.

"Kitty, wake up," I say.

"What…?" she asks, confused and groggy. "I'm freezing."

"I'm gonna get you some clothes," I say. "Then, I wanna show you something."

She frowns deeply and sits up, lifting her arms when I put a t-shirt over her head, then steps into a pair of cotton pajama pants with snowflakes on them. Obediently, she takes my hand as I take her out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes as we head down the hall.

"Where're we going?" she asks, voice still thick with sleep. Her footsteps shuffle slowly behind me, feet clad in a pair of pink slippers.

"You'll see," I say, then open the front door and lead her out to the yard.

We stand in the center, right in the middle of the grass. April still has her arms wrapped around her body, but she doesn't seem to be too concentrated on the cold. Instead, she's looking up at the crystal clear, midnight blue sky, seemingly entranced. I was, too, when I first noticed how beautiful it is tonight. But now, all I'm looking at is her and the way the night shines against her face.

"What are we doing out here?" she asks, a bit more awake now.

I wind my arms around her from behind and take a look at her profile. I kiss her cheek and rub my nose against the side of her face, and she leans into me like she always does.

"This is where I loved you first," I say. "In the moonlight. And I wanted to see you in it again."


	17. Epilogue

**APRIL**

My family wasn't there for my high school graduation, college graduation, or when Jackson and I got married. They weren't there then, and they aren't here now.

I'm alone at the moment, in an office that badly needs to be furnished. The room feels cavernous without anything on the walls, and a bare floor to match. The only thing standing is my desk, made of cherry wood, that I've worked at for years. I had no choice but to decorate it first.

Lining the edges are photos from momentous times in my life - standing in blue robes when I graduated high school, Jackson at my side. Standing in black robes when I graduated from the University of Michigan with a creative writing degree, Jackson at my side. Standing in a white dress in a field of flowers, a just-married smile on my face - Jackson, of course, by my side.

I went through these milestones without them, but not without the thought of them. As far as I've moved on from my past, it still tends to follow me. I can pretend it doesn't, but that won't chase it away. I'm not sure what could, at this point. It seems the memories will always cling to me, no matter how hard I try and pry them off.

Jackson and I live in Traverse City now, near Lake Michigan. It's a beautiful little tourist town and our house is located on the outskirts, just far enough from the hustle and bustle while still remaining a part of things. We moved from Ann Arbor only a week ago and haven't yet gotten settled, but we will soon. It's winter now; I can't wait to see the town come to life when it gets warmer.

I lean forward to rest on my elbows and tip my head to the side, studying my favorite photos. Eight years have passed since I escaped the farm, eight years since I was introduced to society, and all I've done is flourish.

That's what Jackson says, at least, when I have down days. Because I still do. It'd be impossible to stay positive about losing my old life, losing everything I once identified with - essentially a part of myself. I had to rebuild who I am from the ground up, and to this day I'm still working on that.

He tells me, in a sense, everyone is. I shouldn't feel different than someone passing on the street. We all have struggles, mine just happen to be a bit more extreme than most.

He usually knows what just to say. It's one of the thousands of things I love him for. He's always there to support me. He dried my tears when I walked across the stage after 12th grade, and held my hand when I received my Bachelor's. Of course, when he got both his degrees, I held him just as tightly.

I'm a freelance writer and a poet now. I've been published numerous times. He works as a speech pathologist, and is soon opening his own practice, which is the reason we moved here. He's 29 now, and since getting his degree, it was his goal to do as much before his 30th birthday.

We've handed over our secrets and made each other promises that will always be kept. Since I fell in love with him, he's shown me the world and given me as much as he can from it. And on our wedding day, he stood in front of me and promised he'd do the same for the rest of our lives.

Looking out into the audience that day, I couldn't help but notice how empty my 'family' side was. It wasn't just sparse, the seats were completely bare of blood relatives. There were no redheads in the audience with freckles and green eyes, no weeping mom or proud dad. No sisters at my side acting as my bridesmaids, not a single Kepner to be seen. And after the ceremony was over, the only Kepner in the building left as an Avery.

But the seats that the absence of my family left empty were filled with an overflow of friends. From high school, college, and work. People came because they loved us and they wanted to witness the joining of our love for each other. That was an amazing feeling - other people supporting me, and us, because they believed in what we could do and what we already had.

Before this stage of my life, I'd never experienced that feeling. And now, I receive it in droves.

I sit back in my chair and pull out the drawer so it grazes my stomach, then lift out the battered, dilapidated red notebook. Though it's filled-up and worn down, I can't bear to do away with it. It's as much a part of me as anything else.

Sitting there at my old desk in my new house, I flip through the pages while being hit with the familiar scent of my old life. The faded pen marks, the rips in the corners, the scribbling-out of what I hadn't liked, it's all there. It's almost like a life story, or a chapter that's been long closed that I can't seem to put away.

I smile softly at the old poems that I'd written without any knowledge of the craft. I didn't need it back then - these words came from my heart, my struggle. They were the only things on that farm that I could call my own, the only things no one could take from me. That is, until Jackson came along. Then, I had him. And I'll always have him.

His footsteps are hard to miss in this creaky house, and I hear them coming up the stairs long before he arrives in the doorway of my office. I'm already looking that way when he appears, and he meets my eyes with a soft smile.

"Hey, beautiful," he says, then lifts the bundle in his hand. "Got the mail. New issue came."

I raise my eyebrows, expression lit with excitement. I have a poem inside this month's issue of _Poetry Magazine_ , and it's the fourth time I've been published with them.

"Ooh, let me see," I say, reaching as he hands it over. I look at the table of contents for a moment before flipping to the page that holds my poem, then soak it in.

Prayer Pulse

BY APRIL AVERY

I dug a hole with my hands

and buried my prayer inside.

I buried how my young hands clasped other young hands,

and spoke words they'd been taught.

Brown soil caked my fingernails

and I pressed the dirt until it again was flat and even.

But laying with my ear to the earth,

I can still hear its heartbeat:

 _Dear God, Dear God, Dear God._

"It's a good one, babe," Jackson says, flashing a proud grin. "Pretty soon, we won't be able to keep the paparazzi away from this place. Damn, it's a good thing we moved. I had a feeling they were onto us."

I snort and set the magazine down, slipping it into a drawer with the others.

"How's the writing coming?" he asks, referencing the freelance work I do.

I gesture towards the closed laptop. "Not quite as I planned," I admit. "I got distracted."

"You'll feel better once the office is put together," he says.

I stand up from the desk and walk over to him, heart heavy as I wrap my arms around his waist. I'm not sure exactly what it is that's bringing me down, but it's something. And being close to him always makes me feel better.

"What's wrong, sweets?" he asks, dragging his nails up and down my back. He plants a kiss on my forehead when I look up at him and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I don't know," I say, quietly. "Just doing a lot of thinking. The big change, you know. Stirs things up."

"Sure does," he says. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I say.

"I can help you unpack, if you wanna get your mind on something else," he says, and I agree.

We turn some music on - something by Taylor Swift that Jackson claims not to like, but he actually loves - and the mood lightens considerably. We make each other smile and laugh as we pull open boxes and dust things off that haven't seen the light of day since we packed them in Ann Arbor. Somehow, I can't even remember packing some of these things.

Jackson is shaking his hips animatedly to an upbeat track when I pop open a new box, humming along. On the very top, above everything else, as if it was placed there deliberately, sits a bible. And not just any bible - the one I had while at the farm. The one that taught me everything, the one I carried to church and back, the one I marked up with study notes and highlighted my favorite scriptures in. I'd recognize this soft, leather cover anywhere.

With trembling hands, I open the cover to check the inside, just to make sure. My predictions are confirmed when I see my name scribbled in the upper left-hand corner. It's in wobbly, straight, 7-year-old handwriting, which is how old I was when this bible was gifted to me.

I left the farm a long, long time ago, but I still remember what I took when I left. I hadn't had time to pack a bag, but I must have been clutching this book. The book that had, at one time, been my comfort and solace, the book that I depended on for everything. Alongside my red notebook, it was my everything. It used to make up the person who I was - and I'd forgotten about it. What does that say about my old life?

"Honey, you good?" Jackson asks, noticing my silence.

"I… yeah," I say, still staring at the book in my hands. It looks so small. Was it always this small?

"Whatcha got?" he asks.

I frown, turning it over a couple times before answering. "My bible," I finally say. "From… my old bible."

I'm too afraid to open it. I don't want to know what I'll see - I don't think I'd be okay seeing my mother's handwriting, even after all these years. I'm sure it's inside, if only in small doses. Reading it will send me back. And I haven't been there in many, many years - even figuratively.

"Oh," Jackson says, setting down a lamp he'd gotten from a tall box. He walks over slowly, gauging my reaction while watching my face.

I chew the inside of my lower lip, stroking the cover with my thumbs. I don't know how to feel, because I'm feeling everything at once. I have no choice in the matter; I'm being inundated with emotions.

My eyes grow hot and my face heats up, too, out of my control. I start to breathe harder and deeper, a sure sign that I'm going to cry soon.

"Hey," Jackson says, very gently. "Hey. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to miss them."

I sniff loudly and blink hard. He's usually good at reading my mind, but he doesn't hit the nail on the head this time. I shake my head slightly and put the bible down, feeling instantly better once it's out of my grip.

"I don't miss them," I say, shiny eyes concentrated on his face. "I'm glad you're my family now."

"Yeah," he says, holding my shoulders. "I know, me too. But I also know it's more complicated than that. There's a lot of gray area."

I swallow hard. "I don't know what it is lately," I say. "But I've felt like something is missing. I can't put my finger on what, it's…" I sigh. "I don't know what you'll say when I tell you what I'm thinking."

He tips his head to one side. "Try me," he says.

I close my eyes for a moment and take a cleansing breath. He keeps a firm hold on my shoulders, planting me to the ground so I can't go anywhere. That's the last thing I want, though. I plan on spending the rest of my life right here in front of him.

"I want to have a baby," I say.

It's been eight years since he and I met, back at 18. Now, I'm 26 with a steady-paying job. Jackson is opening his own practice and we just moved into a beautiful house with three bedrooms and a big yard. Our life yearns for a child, and I think a baby might be able to fill the hole that aches inside my chest. I think that empty space is begging for a little life, a perfect culmination of Jackson and me.

"A baby," he says, and his expression lifts. "Yes. God, yes. Of course. A freakin' baby."

My mouth opens in a wide, incredulous smile. "You want… you want one, too?" I ask.

"Yes!" he says, wrapping his arms around my waist to lift me off the floor. "Yes, kitty."

"You want me to have your babies?" I giggle, centimeters away from his face.

"I want you to mother my children, I want you to bear my fruit, I want to plant my seed in-"

"Enough, enough!" I say, waving him off and wriggling to be put down.

The heavy feeling from before is gone, replaced with a whirling ball of white light inside my chest. We're going to try for a baby, and there's no reason to wait.

We find each other in bed that night like always, but this time there's no reaching for condoms. There's no pulling out so he can come on my stomach or back, there's no preventative measures taken. He gives me everything within him and I receive it with open arms, closing my eyes and relishing the moment while hoping and praying that it'll work.

Our baby will be made out of love. Not out of obligation, not necessity, but pure, untapped love between two people who cherish each other above everything else. Our baby will be created by parents who came together due to the most unlikely of circumstances and walked through fire, hand-in-hand. Our baby will know strength and softness, how to fight for what they believe in, and most importantly, how to love without bounds.

We'll give our child everything. All the love I never had, and the affection both of us have to offer. They'll be born into a family that has waited for them, prayed for them, and loves them beyond all means.

…

Once it grows big enough, both Jackson and I are obsessed with my bump. We sit on the couch with our hands pressed to it and feel her - yes, her - twirl, and he sings to our baby. I hadn't ever heard him sing until she started spinning in response to his voice, and after that, he wouldn't stop.

Thea Lucine is what we're going to call her, a name we chose very carefully. And we can't wait to meet her in two short months.

Before Jackson, the thought of being pregnant never crossed my mind. I never thought about it because I understood nothing about it, but now my life is much different. I have no complaints about the weight gain, the swollenness, or any of the other symptoms, because I'm carrying a life inside me.

It makes me feel powerful while being very, very humbling at the same time. It's not an experience I take for granted in any way. When baby Thea wakes me up in the middle of the night with her kicks and twirls, I wake Jackson up, too, so we can both relish it. Usually, he'll fall back to sleep with his head on my lap, lulled by our child's steady movements, quick as a butterfly's wings.

Tonight, I fall asleep first, as usual, lying on my side with one leg wrapped around him as he reads, glasses on. I drift off slowly and then all at once, body twitching as I settle closer against my husband, and he strokes my hair with a free hand. It's not easy to get comfortable with my big belly, but this is a position that never fails. And he always obliges.

A while later, though, I feel him move. He shifts after lifting my leg lightly off of his, then slides off the bed.

"Where're you going?" I ask, squinting against the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

"I heard a knock," he says, frowning. He takes his glasses off, folds them, and puts them on the dresser while slipping into his house shoes. "Wait here."

He leaves and I curiously follow, of course. There's no way I could stay in our bedroom while he goes to investigate, even if it's nothing dangerous. I watch from the top of the stairs while he disappears around the corner, but he calls my name only moments later.

"April," he says, sounding urgent. "April."

By the tone of his voice, I know whatever's happening down there is serious. So, with one hand braced on my round belly, I descend the stairs with a determined, concerned look on my face, and turn the corner to the front door.

All I see is Jackson's back at first; he's shrouding whoever is standing in the doorway. But when I get closer, I come to a dead stop and stare for a moment. In the doorway, looking more grown up than I could have ever imagined, is Alice. My littlest sister, the one I'd lost for so long, the one whom I've only known written down for the past eight years. She's standing here in the flesh, red hair in curls down her back and a suitcase at her feet.

"Sissy," she says, and her voice breaks. One look at me in my pregnant state, and tears are running down her cheeks. Jackson steps aside and I envelop my baby sister in my arms, pressing my face into her neck, squeezing as tightly as I can. "You're pregnant."

"It's you," I whisper urgently, swaying back and forth. I kiss the side of her face with my eyes pressed shut, still not letting go. "You found us. You came."

I pull away and hold her face, wiping her tears with my thumbs. Her face is freckled, mature, and beautiful. She is gorgeous, so adult, and real. She's standing in front of me, where I can see her. I have her. She's safe, and she's with me. Where she's supposed to be.

"Oh, Allie," I say, openly sobbing, shoulders rattling. "It's really you. You made it here, you… you…"

She smiles sadly, lips pulling up without showing any teeth. She leans one cheek against my palm and closes her eyes, taking a big breath to let it out slowly.

When she opens her eyes again, she looks right into mine and says, "I'm free."

…

We told Alice she could stay with us for as long as she needed. There's no time limit, because she's family. After the baby was born, I realized that the hole in my heart was too big to be filled by just one person. But now that both of them - Thea and Alice - have found their way into my life, I've never felt more complete. More at peace.

We're all sitting in the dining room eating dinner, which happened to overlap with Thea's eating schedule tonight. So, even though I have a violently grumbling stomach, I'm feeding her first.

"You hungry, mama?" Jackson asks, looking my way.

"Yeah," I say. "But I'm fine."

"You know she takes forever," he says, lightheartedly. "Here. I'll help you."

He scoots his chair closer to me, and picks up a spoonful of fried rice from my plate to feed it to me. I smile in a wordless thank-you, and stroke the baby's soft skin while she nurses.

Barely two months old, Thea is a tiny masterpiece. She barely ever cries, and she's a mama's girl through and through. She loves Jackson like crazy, but I'm the one who she defaults to. He likes to pretend to get his feelings hurt over it, but I know how much he loves watching us together.

"It's still so crazy to me," Alice says, from the other side of the table. "You guys are married. You have a baby. Think about how this all started."

"Yeah," Jackson says, spoon-feeding me another bite. "I think about it plenty. It is very strange."

"It was meant to be," I say, mouth full of rice.

Alice giggles, taking a sip of her water. "You guys are so good together," she says. "You're like a team. How did you get so good at it?"

I think about that for a long moment, having never looked at it from such an angle. "I don't know," I say. "He's my partner, that's how I see it. In life, in everything. I need help, he's there. He needs help, I'm right there, too. I wouldn't be sitting here right now if it weren't for him. I couldn't have navigated life on my own."

"You could've," he says, wiping crumbs from the corner of my mouth.

"No," I say, looking him in the eye. "I couldn't have gotten off that farm if it weren't for you."

I look across the table and watch Alice's expression morph into something much heavier. Her eyebrows come together as she sets down her fork, and I adjust the baby. Jackson sets down my spoon, too, knowing that the moment has changed and my next bite of food can wait.

"Allie," I say, trying to catch her attention again.

We haven't talked about home since she came. The two months have flown by, and since I was so far along in my pregnancy, most of that time was spent preparing and talking about the baby. There was no room to fit anything else in, but now I realize I should've tried. It was selfish not to ask her to open up, to see if she was okay. Sure, a big moment was happening for me and Jackson, too, but she had just escaped from purgatory. I know what that's like; I should've been the first to make sure she was coping.

"Was it bad after I left?" I ask.

I almost don't want to know the answer. She never gave specifics in her letters, and I never asked for them. I'm sure that Mom and Dad were reading both the incoming and outgoing mail, like a prison system. We had no choice but to keep it cordial.

"Alice," I say. "How did you get out?"

She places her hands on her lap and gnaws the inside of her cheek; it's clear this isn't a comfortable subject. It isn't for me, either - Jackson and I rarely bring it up. Recalling the past only brings pain, but that wound has to be cleaned before it can heal properly.

"I found someone at church," she says. "They drove me to the city limits, and I found your house after walking around for hours."

Thea pulls away from my breast, and Jackson helps me adjust my shirt while I lift the baby to burp her. I pat her back and keep my eyes on my sister, watching her come to grips with all she went through.

"Did they hit you?" I ask, and she knows who the 'they' is.

"Mom did," she says. "A couple times, when I said I wanted to be with you. She said there was no reason for me to go and find you, because you'd only corrupt me. She called you horrible things, and Daddy got really angry with her."

She's begun to shake, I can see it from here. Without hesitation, Jackson stands and hurries over, holding her shoulders in his strong arms. She leans her head against his chest and cries, and he soothes her like he's done for me on countless nights.

"We got you," he says, voice low. He rubs her upper arm, and I watch from afar. "You're safe here. They can't do anything to you now. Right? Look at April. She's been out for almost ten damn years. And she's doing just fine. You're gonna be just fine, too. I promise."

…

The four of us grow together - me, Jackson, Thea, and Alice - as a family. I'd been happy when it was just Jackson and me, but now, the house has come to life. It has a heartbeat, and it's a home with all of us in it.

Thea gets bigger, and it's the joy of my life to watch her grow from a baby to a toddler. When she started to walk, she took those unsteady steps right into Jackson's arms and Alice got it on video. Her first word was 'kitty,' not because we have one, but because of Jackson's nickname for me.

Alice takes the baby to swim lessons every Wednesday, and Catherine comes over every Saturday to have dinner. Though my family on the farm was bigger, I've never felt more connected to a unit than I do to them.

This Saturday, we're all sitting in the living room with soft music playing while 18-month-old Thea falls asleep in my arms. Alice and Jackson are talking quietly over a trivia game they're playing and I'm saying quiet prayers with my daughter as she drifts off.

God hasn't left my life. For a while, I was lost on the concept of religion and what it could mean if He let my parents treat me so poorly. For years, I felt forsaken by Him and most of all, forgotten.

That changed, though, when Thea was born. I looked at her face in the delivery room and was in complete and total awe of her. God hadn't left me. I had just been taught wrong, and the people who taught me had been grossly misled. As I looked into the eyes of my daughter that day, I found my faith again. She reminded me that there's no force bigger on this earth than God's love - shown the right way.

Except for, maybe, a mother's love.

"Dear Father in heaven," I begin, very softly as I rock her back and forth. "Look down from above. Bless Mommy and Daddy, and those who I love. May angels guard over my slumbers, and when the morning is breaking, awake me. Amen." 

I kiss the side of her head and run my fingers through her curls, breathing in the scent that I know and love so well. When I lift my gaze, Jackson's eyes are already on me, exuding warmth.

"My poet," he says.

"Did you make that up?" Catherine asks, looking over as well.

"Oh, no," I say, arms wrapped loosely around Thea's pudgy belly. "I used to say that one when I was little. Remember, Alice?"

She smiles subtly, going back to the game without much acknowledgement. She's not at a place where she can look back to find any fond memories amongst the muck we escaped from, but I am. I remember being a happy child who didn't know any better. I reveled in making my parents proud, and that prayer made me feel safe at night. I want Thea to know those same feelings too, if that's the only thing I give her from my old life.

"Do you think you'll ever let them meet her?" Catherine asks later, sitting close to me and my daughter on the couch.

Alice has gone to bed, and Jackson sits on my other side with a hand on my thigh. He's paying attention to the conversation, too, but passively. He knows what kind of relationship his mother and I have - and he understands that some parts don't include him.

"No," I answer, instantly. I've tossed the question around before and have always come to the same conclusion. Thea is perfect, an absolute gift, and my parents did nothing to deserve to know of her existence. And she doesn't need to know them, either. "No," I say again, equally as firm.

Jackson leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek, one hand flat on the baby's back. He knows her well, and knows me better. We came to the decision together - that we'd never allow her to be privy to how I was raised. When she's much, much older, I'll tell her about it. But not until she can understand the pain I went through without feeling it for me.

I don't want to keep secrets, but protecting my child is the most important job I have. I'll never let her shoulder the weight I bore for all those years, until I was brave enough to leave.

…

A few months later, we're in the middle of a hike on a late summer afternoon when we find the pond. It's in the middle of the woods on Muncie Lakes Pathway, and we stop and stare like we might be hallucinating because it's so hot.

"Water!" Thea cheers from her place in the carrier on Jackson's back. I'd already taken my turn and gotten exhausted, so he's in the middle of his. "Go swim! Water!"

She's two now, and the spitting image of her father. He'll say that she looks like me when she makes any dramatic expression - whether it be laughing, crying, or pouting - but I take one look at her and all I see is him. From the eyes, to the freckles, to the bow of her lips.

"Should we?" I ask, hands on the straps of my bag.

"I'm so hot," he says.

"Hot! Hot!" Thea says, palms up and fingers spread wide. "Don't touch, hot."

"Very good," I say, and throw my backpack off. "We're gonna get in this water to cool down, how's that sound, babes?"

Thea screams as I unbuckle her from the contraption and lift her onto my hip. Our sweaty skin sticks together, and Jackson lets out a sigh of relief as he takes everything off - shoes included.

"I'm getting in," he says.

He strips all the way down to his boxers, and I laugh while taking Thea's damp clothes off her. Before long, she's as naked as the day she was born, arms out wide as she follows Jackson to the water's edge.

"We going in, baby girl?" he says, lifting her chunky body into his arms to take her in the water with him. "Come on, kitty!"

"Kitty! Kitty!" Thea squeals, and I laugh to myself.

"What am I supposed to wear?" I ask.

"Your skivvies," he says, eyes lit up. "Just like old times."

My mouth screws up in a devious smirk as I'm unable to stop the memories from flooding in. I see Jackson and me at that secluded pond in the woods behind the farmhouse, stripped naked and vulnerable. We discovered each other on the shore of that water hole as naive, horny kids.

Now, we've grown so much, yet we're somehow back in the same position. But this time, there's a baby between us. A baby that we made because of how we fell in love lying atop the smooth rocks by the pond.

"What if people see?" I ask, looking to my left and right.

"No one's around," he says, grinning widely. "Babes is out here naked as a jaybird. I only kept my boxers on to spare her the mental scarring, but you get in the bath with her all the damn time. Get in here, kitty cat."

"Kee-cat!" Thea says, slapping the surface of the water with her palms.

I roll my eyes playfully and give in. "Fine!" I say. "But if we get caught and charged with indecent exposure-"

"I'll blame it on the baby. Now, come on."

I undress quickly, down to nothing, and hurry into the water. It's nice and refreshing, cool but not cold, and I instantly feel better out of the heat. I swim under the water and come back up with my hair slicked down, and Thea has never been more amused. She claps her hands together and smiles - big and bright, just like Daddy.

"What's Mama doin'?" he asks, coming closer. "Huh? What's your little mama doin'?"

"Mama!" she urges, reaching her arms out for me.

I stand to my full height so I can take her from Jackson and subsequently lift my chest from the water, exposing my breasts to the open air. His eyes roam downward as he takes in the sight, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Now we're talkin'," he says.

"Don't be gross," I say, but inch closer. He wraps both arms around my waist and lets his hands do a little exploring until they find my ass and give it a hearty squeeze. "Jackson!" I scold.

"Fine, fine," he says, laughing. "No hands."

Instead, he uses his hands for something sweeter. He rests one on Thea's back and presses his lips to the top of her head, and she bends her neck so she can look at him upside-down. She makes a happy sound and stretches an arm with one finger pointed, touching his bearded chin. He pretends to eat her finger with his lips covering his teeth, and she giggles that infectious giggle we both love.

Then, he uses both hands to cup my jaw and kiss me slow. When he pulls away, I don't let him get far before taking his wrist and kissing each of his fingertips, looking steadily into his eyes. Even after all these years, sometimes I still can't believe he's mine.

When we met, he was a dream. A faraway vision that I didn't let myself hope for, because I knew we would never work. I never thought I'd get off that farm and escape my parents, escape what had been arranged for me, and escape the life already written.

But I did. And he made it happen.

In my tiny twin bed with the flowered sheets on the farm, I used to lie awake and dream of a future that was never real enough to touch. I dreamed of a husband who loved me, a life full of freedom, and a family of my own. I dreamed of a life where I had agency, where I could make my own decisions, one where I never had to ask permission.

I was always too scared to wish for it to come true. But now, I don't have to dream anymore - the life I never thought I could live is right in front of me. And it's better than I ever thought possible.


End file.
